


Shank and Carbos are Dead

by Zhenta



Series: Shifting Targets [3]
Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2020-12-17 12:24:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 63
Words: 270,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21054365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhenta/pseuds/Zhenta
Summary: BG2. Deprived of both his first choice of Bhaalspawn and his second, Irenicus is forced to settle for one with barely a trace of her father's essence. Arowan's soul is scarcely enough to restore his mortal life, never mind grant him the strength to seek revenge on Suldanessellar. The Tree of Life seems beyond his reach forever, until a necromancer offers him an intriguing alternative.





	1. The Runt of Bhaal's Litter

Irenicus ground his back teeth in irritation. The Bhaalspawn meandered through his library, glancing at the books with the same emotionless indifference as she looked at everything else in the compound. He'd shown her the mutilated body of her adopted father and she'd shrugged.

He'd taken her to his bedroom where her werewolf sister's pelt was currently serving as a floor rug. She'd merely remarked, unfazed, on how interesting it was that it hadn't turned to dust. Only the parts of a Bhaalspawn attached at the moment of death did. Then she'd chewed off a fingernail and stared at it not-dusting for a while before flicking it away. He'd let her sit with the dryads while they described their years of misery at his hands. She had responded with a loud yawn.

"They're almost as afraid of her as they are of you," observed Bodhi, smugly. Through his incompetence Freya and Eric were dead. Now he was left with the feeblest Bhaalspawn, Arowan, a ranger with barely a hint of her father's essence. Scarcely enough even to restore his mortal health, never mind take on Ellesime and the Tree of Life.

Bodhi was itching to say that it served him right. He had let Freya send her to her coffin fourteen times as part of his 'experiments.' Still, it was a sore spot, and if she brought it up, he would likely torture her. So for once she stayed quiet.

"Get out!" snapped Irenicus. Bodhi gave him a simpering smile and slunk away into the gloom. Arowan picked up a book she was incapable of reading, and began ripping pages out one by one. He turned his face to her and said coldly; "Desist."

Arowan dropped the book impassively, causing more pages to detach from its spine. If he still had hair, he would have torn it at this point. Irenicus could not even bang his steel-bolted head against a brick wall in case pieces fell off. There was little he could do with her in this state, but he feared to leave her unattended. Her brother Eric had died from going too long without numbing potions. He had not been taking a tenth of what Arowan was drinking.

Irenicus was weaning her off of them slowly, carefully, but from such a high starting dose it was going to take months. In the meantime there was a very real risk that she might die from withdrawal in her sleep.

So here she was, not in a cage but loitering about his library amongst books she couldn't read. She had picked up another one and was trying, her mouth moving as she attempted to make sense of the words. Yet soon her eyes glazed over and stared blankly at the page.

"Ugh, my head," she complained, putting the book back.

"I haven't done anything to you yet," Irenicus pointed out frostily. "You cannot require more numbing potion, your last dose was barely an hour ago."

"No, but I picked up this nine-cups-a-day coffee habit in Baldur's Gate," groaned Arowan. "If I miss my morning beans I'm out for the count."

"Ah, wit," he said. "Your sister imagined she had it too."

"I'm not entirely joking," replied Arowan blearily. Not that it really mattered if she had a headache. She was aware that her head hurt and that it was supposed to be unpleasant, but under the influence of the potions she did not _care _about pain.

"You Bhaalspawn seem to have a predisposition for substance abuse," Irenicus snapped. "Eric with his numbing potions, Freya with her alcohol. It has caused me a great deal of inconvenience. It still is. I cannot use you in this state."

"I do apologise," she said, idly raising another of his books to the nearest candle. He crossed the room in two steps and snatched it from her hand.

"Sarcasm and bravado will not help you!" he snarled.

"Yeah but, let's face it, they probably aren't going to make things any worse."

The mage's face contorted with rage. His prisoner knew perfectly well that she was going to die, but thanks to the numbing potions she didn't care. He was not accustomed to being spoken to with such a lack of reverence. Even Bodhi, despite her occasional bouts of defiance, maintained an appropriate appearance of awed fear. Whereas Arowan felt nothing.

"Were it not for those numbing potions you would be on your knees pleading for mercy!" he thundered, sending lightning crackling from his fingertips. His unimpressed audience blinked at him with absolute unconcern.

"I used to do a lot of pointless things before the potions," she replied nonchalantly. "But probably not begging. A man who has gone to the effort of building a laboratory like this is not just going to release me on request. This isn't the first time I've been caged in a lunatic's dungeon. I know begging is a waste of breath."

"Ah, you mean Gamaz? Yes, his base in the Cloud Peaks was a great inspiration for this place," Irenicus mused, looking around him. "He left extensive notes on his experiments. You should have studied them, they make for fascinating reading."

"I never liked reading."

With the tips of her fingers she started heedlessly pushing books, paperweights and pens onto the floor. Not for any particular reason. Just because. When she got to the inkwell, his brittle fingers tightened about her wrist again. She withdrew her hand dispassionately.

"Candlekeep was wasted on you," he remarked spitefully.

"That is an accurate assessment."

There was a long pause, during which he kept half an eye on his prisoner in case she decided to destroy something out of boredom again. She even had to be monitored at night. This task had fallen to their geas slave, Yoshimo. The duergar could not be relied upon for such an important task. Loafers and idlers the lot of them. Barely better than drow. As for Bodhi, she did not have the self-discipline required to pay attention to Arowan for long periods. Besides, he didn't trust her not to eat her.

A clump of feet echoed down the dripping sewer-like corridor. A golem appeared at the door to the library to inform him that an intruder had entered the complex, but Bodhi had taken care of him. A faint crease appeared between Irenicus' eyes. That ought not to be possible… but perhaps his sister had brought in a live snack and forgotten about them. It wouldn't be the first time.

He pulled a small metal spanner from his robes and tightened the steel bolts on his hands and arms just in case. No good getting into a battle and having a finger fall off mid-incantation.

"Can I ask you something?" piped up Arowan.

"Another attempt at humour?" Irenicus responded between gritted teeth.

"No, a legitimate question."

"Very well, but make it brief. I must check who this so-called intruder was," he replied. "It will almost certainly be a waste of my time but one cannot be too careful."

"Are you taking numbing potions too?" Arowan asked. He looked up from his bolts, surprised, so she elaborated. "You frequently behave as though you are."

Irenicus put down his spanner with a careful click, and gave the Bhaalspawn his full attention. She was a plain but athletic woman, with wavy brown hair growing just past her shoulders. Her eyes were a solid chocolate brown, though the numbing potions gave them a vacant appearance, like a dead manatee. She retained the swarthy, freckled complexion of someone who spent most of their time outdoors, for she had not been his guest for very long. At least not chronologically. To Irenicus it had felt like he'd had to tolerate her presence too long right from day one.

"A curious observation Bhaalspawn. What prompted it?"

"The total lack of empathy. The psychotic torturing. Your single-minded fixation on the last thing you cared about." She gestured in the general direction of his mistress's shrine and the room containing her clones. "Even though according to the dryads you don't really feel anything anymore."

Irenicus ran his finger slowly over his upper lip, mulling it over.

"No, I have never taken numbing potions," he answered her at length. "But I imagine the effects of my curse are similar. I had not considered that."

"Tell me more about the curse," said Arowan. "Perhaps I can help you lift it."

Irenicus narrowed his eyes suspiciously. As far as he could tell, she cared for nothing but getting her surviving parent out of the complex. The ranger didn't even have _real _emotions about Jaheira anymore. Yet freeing her had been the last thing she'd cared about before she started taking numbing potions. In the absence of any other feeling to deflect her, she'd pursue that goal forever, as relentlessly as a golem. Just as he tried endlessly to recreate his passion for Ellesime, despite long since ceasing to really care.

"Fear not little one," he said. "You _are _going to help me lift it."

"That's why I'm here is it?" asked Arowan.

"Don't think I don't see what you are doing!"

"What am I doing?"

"Fishing for information," he said. Arowan almost smiled. He glared at her. "For an uneducated illiterate, you possess a surprising cunning. Your sister just used to rage and make threats."

The thudding feet of the golem returned. Irenicus was almost relieved to have an excuse to stop talking to Arowan.

"Master," it croaked mechanically. "More intruders have entered the complex."

"What? How?" snapped Irenicus. The humanoid mound of baked clay stood there mutely. "Go and fetch Yoshimo to watch Arowan. I will deal with it."

This made no sense! How could his defences have been breached? He had chosen Athkatla specifically because the city required that every magical practitioner be registered with the Cowled Wizards. There was nobody here with the power to challenge him. He had geas-slaves among the clerks in the government building who checked the register for him daily.

A few minutes later Yoshimo entered the library and Irenicus left in a temper. Arowan watched her exchange of guardians with a profound lack of interest.

"How are you feeling?" the thief asked tentatively.

"I feel nothing, we have been through this," she replied. "I did for about ten minutes this morning between waking up and my first dose of numbing potion. Then I was thinking about my father's death and Irenicus showing me his corpse." She paused and added reflectively; "I was quite upset about it."

"I am sorry about what happened to your father," Yoshimo said with a small bow.

"Why?" Arowan blinked in surprise. "He killed Freya for you. You put on that geas ring and gave up your freedom so that you could have your revenge on the Hero of Baldur's Gate. That was the whole point. I'd have thought you'd be pleased with how my father died. He did what your master clearly wasn't going to any time soon."

Yoshimo winced. The ranger was not saying it in an accusatory way, only as a statement of fact. She had been surprisingly understanding when they had met, north of Baldur's Gate, and he had confessed to being under the wizard's control. She'd warned him at the time that he had no idea what he had got himself into, and she had been right.

The things he had seen in this complex, he could never unsee. Nor, with the geas ring on his finger, could he do anything about it. Yoshimo felt that he was living on borrowed time, waiting for an order to come that was so obscene that he would be unable to follow it. Then he would die, and when he did Irenicus had promised him there was a place in hell waiting for him.

"I would appreciate it if you would stop referring to him as my 'master,'" he said.

"That is what he is."

Before Yoshimo could reply an explosion rocked the complex. The thief jumped in alarm as dust and powdered mortar rained down on them from above. There were pounding footsteps and yelling as the duergar rushed to aid in the battle.

"Is something wrong?" asked Arowan.

It was hard to believe that this was the same woman he had met on the road to Baldur's Gate. The one who had gone hungry to give the last of her food to refugees, and had spared his life when he'd been part of an attack on her group.

"We're in danger of being buried alive!" cried Yoshimo, trying not to get frustrated with her. "Does that qualify as wrong?"

"Yes!" said Arowan, snapping out of her stupor and suddenly alert. "If the complex collapses there is no way to get Khalid and Jaheira out. Getting them out is…"

"…_necessary. Getting them out is important,"_ Yoshimo finished for her. He'd heard it before. His fellow Ilmatari was running on a one-issue-ticket these days. "Whatever the reason, let us depart!"

"Will your geas ring permit that?" she asked.

"I was told to watch you!" the thief snapped. "Do you imagine that letting his last, precious Bhaalspawn get crushed under rubble was what Irenicus had in mind when he gave that instruction?"

"What he had in mind is irrelevant," replied Arowan. "It is the wording of the geas that counts. One must be careful how one gives instructions with such a curse… and how one follows them. Not that I object to you breaking the rules. Your survival is…"

"…_not important_. I know," Yoshimo sighed, unable to resist rolling his eyes. "Isn't this nice? We're only just getting properly acquainted, but already we finish each other's sentences like an old married couple. The geas is fine. Now let's move!"

They headed for the corridor but found the way blocked. One of Irenicus' duergar was retreating backward toward them, sword outstretched. Suddenly the Underdark dwarf was enveloped in a noxious purple fog. It laced sickly tendrils of gas into her ears, mouth and nose. Soon the deadly vapour was even pouring from the sockets of her eyes, and she collapsed dead.

The ranger stepped forward curiously, with the obvious intention of poking the deceased duergar. Yoshimo, however, retreated instinctively, pulling an annoyingly unconcerned Arowan with him. This was why she had to be watched constantly instead of simply being caged. The potions made her as much a danger to herself as to Irenicus' possessions.

To Yoshimo's astonishment and Arowan's mild interest, a courtesan stepped over the dead duergar and strolled into Irenicus' library as bold as brass. She had a frilly silk dress with a corseted bodice. The skirt was slit so high up the back that if she bent over her bottom would be exposed. Her long blonde hair was tied in a high ponytail adorned with multicoloured laces and exotic jewels. The woman's lips had been painted a vibrant red and she had glittering blue shadow above her charcoal decorated eyes.

"Oh, don't let _me_ stop you darlings," she trilled, winking at Yoshimo.

"What in the hells?" the thief muttered. The courtesan ignored him and began hastily pulling books and scrolls from the shelves, tossing them onto the floor and muttering in annoyance. Every so often she would tuck something into her scroll book. On closer inspection, her dress was a heavily modified wizard's robe. A valuable one, in so far as the thief could judge. They watched her in bewilderment.

Two more strangers followed her into the library. It took them some time to vacate the corridor because despite their burly, wide girth, they were attempting to walk two abreast. The men stumbled in looking about them stupidly. There was nothing Yoshimo could pinpoint that set them apart from any other hired goons. Yet he got the sense that there was something not quite right about these two. Arowan was certain that she had seen the woman before, but it was hard to tell under so much makeup.

"Excuse me madam?" Yoshimo ventured politely.

"No!" sighed the courtesan, sweeping another pile of scrolls onto the floor with her elegantly manicured hands. "No, no, no. Nothing!" A curdled scream rang down from above. There were a great deal more hollers and bangs. "Will you SHUT UP!" she screamed at the ceiling.

"I beg your pardon?" Yoshimo tried again. The courtesan pouted and folded her arms.

"Go away please, I'm busy," she sighed. "If you try to stop me, I am going to have to destroy you, but I really don't have time for that so if you wouldn't mind…?" She made a gesture to shoo them away.

Yoshimo frowned at the courtesan, trying to make some sense out of what he was seeing. He had known Irenicus to bring blindfolded ladies on the game into his mistress's room before, but not to wander freely around the complex, trampling on his books. Besides, he had a specific type. Elfin, golden-haired and possessing ethereal grace and beauty. This woman, with her excessive rouge and careworn face did not fit the criteria. Those were heavy eye bags lurking beneath her inch-thick makeup.

Yet he had no choice but to move. Arowan was already striding away in search of Jaheira and (he suspected with some unease) Khalid's corpse. With a last, curious glance at the bizarre intruders, he hurried away after his charge.

The courtesan continued rummaging but her search did not go uninterrupted for long. Irenicus was less concerned about the Shadow Thieves overrunning his lair, than he was about locating the mage who let them in to start with. Suspecting that the assassins were being used as mere cannon-fodder as they flung themselves uselessly against his spells, he left Bodhi and the duergar to deal with them and returned below.

As soon as he saw the courtesan, he was certain that she was the one who had breached his defences. For all her harmless appearance, she radiated evil magic. A dark, necrotic aura surrounded her, and as for her accomplices, they were zombies. Not just any old mouldering tomb guardians, these were exquisite craftsmanship to be sure. Yet zombies just the same.

At once he fired off a series of contingency spells aimed at immobilizing her. Paralysis, holding, sleep. One by one they bounced harmlessly off of the necrotic aura surrounding her. She turned around slowly, resignedly, and began to chant her own incantations in retaliation.

The moment he attacked her, the zombies stopped groaning stupidly and lurched into action.

"Shank protect Bubbles!" cried one. A talking zombie.

"Carbos protect Bubbles!" declared the second, gallantly. Irenicus looked from one to the other, then back to the courtesan. These names and faces were all very familiar.

"No, _Shank _protect Bubbles!" roared the first zombie, who had been a half-elf in life judging by the ears. He squared up to the formally-human Carbos. Bubbles squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment.

What fresh insult from the Seldarine was this? Irenicus gawped at them, for he remembered now who they were. This woman was the lover of the dead Bhaalspawn and powerful necromancer, Eric of Candlekeep. She, like Eric, had been a prisoner of Baeloth in the Black Pits but unlike him she had not been kept as a fighter.

With a loud but stilted curse, Carbos punched Shank squarely on his undead jaw, which promptly fell off. Shank bent down to pick it up, shoving it back onto his face with a nasty clicking noise. Carbos took the opportunity to boot him in the thigh.

Irenicus was glaring at Bubbles. A human courtesan with no powers of her own, how could this be? Eric must have done more than rescue her. Now that he came to think of it, he remembered the boy rushing backstage saying he meant to rob Baeloth's stalls of their equipment, but coming back with nothing. Had he given everything to her? It certainly appeared that way, her amulets and charms were better quality than his own!

Shank was trying to rise, but every attempt earned him a fresh kick from Carbos. Eventually the half-elf zombie gave up, twisted around on the floor and fastened his teeth around his fellow's ankle, in an effort to gnaw it off.

"Fight the wizard not each other!" Bubbles groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.

The exile scowled at this amateurish display and apparently Bubbles had had enough too because an arrow of ice shot from each of her hands into the zombies' chests. Her henchmen collapsed and she made an impatient hissing noise.

"Forget it! Useless hulks. I'll do it myself!" she sighed.

If Irenicus had expected this to be an easy fight, he was unpleasantly surprised. Breaking through her defensive spells did not avail him. There was a morbid buzzing sound. Bubbles lifted her skirt and out swarmed hundreds of undead bees. They formed a dynamic barrier between the two of them, parting for her spells and absorbing his, at the cost of a few dead insects per curse.

"Clever. This is exactly the sort of thing that Eric might have done," Irenicus said, remembering the dead Bhaalspawn and his undead rats. He was backing away as he spoke. The insects were stinging at him. Most were blocked by his barriers but occasionally one broke through and it hurt.

"Is that a werewolf bite I see on your cheek?" Bubbles asked innocently. "You're powerful enough to throw off a lycanthropy curse, but not to heal the simple wound that went with it. Now why might that be?"

Irenicus responded with a fire blast, that destroyed almost all of the bees in one go. Flames radiated from him and their tiny undead bodies shrivelled, falling in a rain of ashes. Bubbles huffed.

"The wound is rotting I see," she said, with a twisted smile. "Let's see if we can't speed that up."

There was a moist, diseased sound, accompanied by the foul stench of decomposition. Pain and frailty leeched through his body. It was a hefty necrotic attack and he was already susceptible to it. Ellesime's punishment had left his body falling apart. He could only hold it together with bolts and magic. The grievous wounds that the Hero of Baldur's Gate had inflicted before her death, were not healing and his half-dead body was decaying around him.

Whatever Bubbles was doing was making it worse. He had no choice but to surrender to the fetid whore. Such weakness was a new low, but he swallowed his pride. Once he was restored he would make this one pay too, along with everyone else who had wronged him.

"Cease this!" he cried, holding up his palm. "What is it you want? Tell me! Perhaps I can provide it."

"Perhaps you can." Bubbles raised an over-plucked eyebrow. The spell subsided, though rancid fungi were popping in and out of existence an inch from his nose. Her threat that she could reapply it at any time was clear. "I need all the information you have gathered on the Bhaalspawn, and anything you may have in your library concerning resurrection magic. Give it to me, and I will go away."

There was a flutter of wings and a large bat flew out of the corridor. It hovered momentarily between Bubbles and Irenicus. Bodhi resumed her human form and landed, catlike, her fangs flashing wickedly.

"I'd forget stealing from us and just leave if I were you," purred Bodhi. A clanging behind her signalled the return of the armoured duergar. "Your thieves are all dead, nightwalker. Do you think you can defeat us both together and our servants too?"

Bubbles cast an appraising eye over the vampire and her brother, who was already getting to his feet. If she could take out a few duergar, she could bring them back to fight their fellows, but that would leave her open to one of those fireballs.

Then there was the vampire. Bubbles had no desire to be bitten and find herself in thrall to a mistress. She was already enough of a slave to the dead.

"Probably not," she sighed. She gestured to Shank and Carbos. "I must be going. Don't fret about the mess, they'll tidy themselves away later."

With a crackle of energy, she vanished.

"We should burn the zombies!" said Bodhi. "She practically told us they'll get up again."

"Forget Shank and Carbos, they're no threat!" Irenicus cried, leaning heavily on a duergar to pull himself to his feet. "Where is the Bhaalspawn? Spread out and find her! That pitiful ranger is the last whole-soul available. Without her I'll have to resort to picking scraps out of Imoen."

Carrying Imoen's soul was unthinkable after what he had subjected her to. He was quite content to let Bodhi endure such trauma. For himself, he'd prefer those memories kept out of his head. He led the way into the complex to hunt Arowan, leaving the zombies lying in a puddle of papers.

After a while, there was a loud groan and Shank sat bolt upright. His lifeless grey eyes fixed dully on the ice arrow in his heart. It was still almost intact for he had no body heat with which to melt it. With a jerking motion he fixed stiff, gloved hands about the arrow and yanked it out. It clattered to the floor and shattered.

Beside him Carbos was lurching unsteadily to his feet. He was taller than Shank thanks to their respective heritage, but Shank was wider thanks to a lot of big dinners. Unlike most zombies they each retained a full head of hair, Carbos's black and Shank's ginger. They had even been dressed up in fresh clothes, though they were torn here and there from having been stabbed and shot numerous times in the service of Bubbles.

These were no ordinary zombies. Eric had designed them to pass as real people, provided you did not look or sniff too closely. Even their eyes moved about in their sockets, enchanted to turn automatically to the loudest noise in the room. Occasionally this caused their eyes to rotate backward in their sockets, so that they could stare through their skulls at something behind them. Eric had not got around to ironing out all the glitches.

The pair were passable, just about, but had been dead for over a year. Signs of wear and tear were beginning to poke through the illusion magic.

Carbos took a needle and thread from his pocket and began sewing the arrow wound back up with a practised hand.

"Where Bubbles?" he blinked stupidly.

"Find Bubbles," groaned Shank. His own meaty fingers were too thick for threading needles, so he improvised. A handful of paper was ripped out and shredded from one of Irenicus' books to neatly plug the gap. "Must protect Bubbles."

Carbos sniffed the air. His eyes remained on Shank, as the last sound in the room. The enchantment was far from perfect. His body, however, gravitated toward the dead duergar on the floor. All of the purple miasma had cleared now leaving a perfect, unsullied corpse. The walnut like skull was all that stood between them and a mint-condition dwarf brain.

"Tasty," suggested Carbos. His fellow zombie nodded dully.

"Shank could eat."


	2. Bubbles' Bargain

Arowan did not take long to locate, though the complex was large. Irenicus knew that the single-minded addict would only have gone to one of two places. Either to release her adopted mother from her cage, or to scrape what remained of Khalid off the floor of his lab. It turned out to be the latter, and they found her attempting to haul his decaying carcass up a flight of stairs, as Yoshimo fruitlessly tried to persuade her not to.

"I am tempted to see what Imoen makes of this little scene," sneered Irenicus. "Would you like to see your childhood friend again? You've been apart for some time."

"I have no interest in seeing Imoen," Arowan replied, predictably. Yoshimo rolled his dark eyes once more and mimed along with the next part; "Imoen is not important."

The wizard clenched his teeth and for a moment, Yoshimo thought he might lose his temper and attack her. Yet with a shuddering breath the mage got a grip on himself. There was a shuffling of feet. At first Irenicus ignored them, thinking it was merely one of the golems, but the footsteps were not quite heavy enough.

"'Scuse us," rumbled Carbos, climbing over Khalid and past Irenicus.

"Must find Bubbles," Shank offered by way of explanation.

The undead duo shambled toward the exit, like a pair of monstrous homing pigeons. Irenicus raised his hands, flames brewing in the palms to annihilate them, but then a slow smile spread over his face and he seemed to change his mind.

"Ah, yes," mumbled Yoshimo, expecting punishment for this. "Those two and a courtesan were in your library. She threatened the Bhaalspawn and I… erm… thought it best to get her out of the way rather than attempt to fight…"

"You did the right thing, she would have obliterated you," said Irenicus coldly. Yoshimo sagged with relief. "I have to go out. Your watch over Arowan begins early this evening."

"Very well," sighed Yoshimo, turning his eyes to the ranger who was patiently lugging Khalid up one step at a time. It was a difficult task because bits of him kept rolling away. Neither this, nor his horrific injuries from where Freya had shaken him like a rag doll, seemed to bother Arowan in the slightest. She picked up something purplish-red and wobbly, and popped it back under his ribs in a business-like way. Yoshimo waved a hand at her despairingly and asked Irenicus, "What do you want me to do about this situation?"

"Let her drag him to the upper storey if she likes, it will keep her out of mischief," Irenicus said, as though describing a psychotic toddler. "Ensure that she does not set off any traps. Should she actually manage to get his body as far as the exit, use the portals to send it downstairs and she can start again."

"As you wish," Yoshimo bowed resignedly. When their captor was gone, he turned to Arowan and said sharply, "What you are doing right now is messed up. Even by your standards."

Yet in a strange way he also rather admired it. She had been too petrified, and with good reason, to let Irenicus find her. So she had taken numbing potions to quell the fear, and let herself get caught. Just so that she could free her adopted parents, and all this knowing that her efforts would almost certainly be in vain. Arowan let out a hollow sigh.

"You don't understand. I _have _to get them out," she told him. "It is necessary. It is important."

Yoshimo crouched down to the ranger's level, trying to ignore the stiffening body between them. This was not easy. The smell was turning his stomach.

"I do understand," he told her. "My family mean everything to me too. You are here because of Khalid and Jaheira. I am here because of Tamoko. But you heard what Irenicus said. You won't be allowed to get him out right now and I really don't want to watch you doing this all night. It's grotesque."

"It doesn't matter what you want."

"Yes, yes. 'I am not important.' You tell me this every day," agreed Yoshimo patiently. "Rest assured, I have heard and understood. But if you drag him to the top floor, I have to follow the geas-order and roll him into the nearest portal and you're back to square one. How about instead, I help you carry him to the second level of the complex and we call it a night?"

Arowan considered this proposal. She could not, unarmed as she was, overpower Yoshimo. Even if, by some miracle she managed it, the duergar would come running. She could not get Khalid out right now, but depositing his remains closer to the surface would make it easier to do so later.

"That is acceptable," she said stiffly.

"I come up with lots of 'acceptable' ideas for a mere irrelevance, right?" he quipped, taking Khalid under the arms. This brought the mouldering head closer to his nose. At once, Yoshimo regretted being a gentleman and wished he had taken the feet instead. It was hard to tell with half-elves but with his flopping ginger hair and peaceful expression, the man he was carrying didn't look very much older than he was. "Come on, you poor bastard. Up we go."

* * *

* * *

Irenicus tucked his soft, weighty parcel under his arm and pulled his hood higher as he approached the bridge district. These days it was not only to hide his mutilated appearance. Ellesime's curse was robbing his body of its vitality and he felt the cold gale from the water as a ninety-year-old human might.

Bubbles' squalid hut lay near the middle. He had expected something grander, but it seemed old habits died hard. Despite her newly found powers she chose to continue living with the other courtesans. Since he was not here to fight or threaten her, he knocked for once. The door swung open and he found himself face to face with Shank, who was playing the role of butler this evening. Carbos, he noticed as he stepped inside, was making his mistress a cup of tea.

"You came," Bubbles said. She didn't sound surprised.

"I followed Shank and Carbos," he replied. Bubbles cursed under her breath.

"I wish Eric had never made those wretched things! They're a liability! I swear he only bound them to me to annoy me. He had a twisted sense of humour."

"A trait the two of you shared, judging by your choice of lodging and attire," Irenicus observed. "Probably the most powerful necromancer in Athkatla, and you present yourself as a common whore."

"I do enjoy the irony," she said, finally deigning to turn around. She took the tea from her zombie servant's cold dead hands. It had a fingernail floating in it. Bubbles fished it out delicately before sipping the tea, and handed it back to its owner who reattached it upside down. "Do make one for our guest Carbos. Death is no excuse for forgetting our manners."

Irenicus sat down on a backless wooden stool, placing the parcel carefully between his feet. Bubbles had tried to brighten the place with coloured lanterns and clashing throw rugs, but this hovel had an unclean, grimy feel to it. Everything was stained and there was an odd, bitter smell. In the corner of the room stood two large empty wardrobes. Presumably these were where Shank and Carbos packed themselves away when not in use.

"So are we going to fight darling, or were you looking for some thrills?" she smiled.

"Neither as it happens," Irenicus replied archly. "I have a proposition."

"Oh, fine. That'll be seven thousand gold pieces."

"I did not mean-" Irenicus paused and raised an eyebrow. Under the heavy makeup, life had aged Bubbles far beyond her years. "_Seven thousand?_ Even the elf-Queen herself wouldn't charge that."

"Seven thousand plus if your bolted-on cock falls off inside me, you pay the temple to have it removed," retorted Bubbles. "My time is expensive these days. Mind you, as a necromancer I can provide services you won't find anywhere else, if you happen to be of a niche disposition."

Irenicus recoiled. He found it difficult to believe that anybody would pay money to lie with this revolting creature. She had been less repulsive, he recalled, in the Black Pits. Dabbling in necromancy had been unkind to the courtesan, but he had seen even less appealing men and women prowling the district, apparently picking up punters successfully. It was a peculiar business.

"Enough of this," he said coldly. "I believe I have deduced what it is you are seeking from my library. Resurrection magics and my notes on Bhaalspawn. You mean to bring Eric back, do you not?"

Bubbles nodded, curtly.

"I would be willing to help you in this endeavour," he said, as ingratiatingly as he could manage. "I put a lot of effort into the boy, I meant to make him my apprentice you know."

This was a blatant lie, but he could hardly tell her his real plans for the Bhaalspawn if he wanted her help. He softened his tone in an attempt to sound charming, but instead managed to come across as greasy.

"It was tragic what happened to poor Eric," he crooned in an oily voice. "Horrid business. All the Hero of Baldur's Gate's doing. I had no hand in it. I too know what it is to lose the love of my life and… thank you Carbos, I will drink it presently… I sympathise perfectly. I daresay you would do anything to get him back?"

Bubbles cut him off with a shriek of laughter. He frowned as she composed herself. With her outrageous outfit and heavily lined eyes, her mirth gave her the appearance of a deranged clown. Though clowns were not nearly so creepy. She waved her hand under his nose, holding out one particular finger for his inspection.

An ugly, but clearly magical ring adorned her. It was set with two grey stones flecked with green. The precise colour of Eric's eyes.

"I recognise this," Irenicus said slowly. "He wore this ring in the Black Pits. Did he put you under a _geas?_"

"Yes, that piece of shit!" Bubbles screamed, still laughing hysterically. "Everything he'd learnt, all his spells, even the special ones you taught him. All his knowledge copied into this ring. I know everything he knew, plus what I learned since. Not to mention the equipment he stole for me from the Black Pits, hells its better than yours! He freed me from Baeloth so that I could serve him instead!"

She stopped laughing and leaned forward. Close up he could see that though she kept the front four teeth presentable, her back ones were brown and black. There was a smell of death on her breath when she spoke.

"The geas has just one instruction. Bring Eric back to life. If I disobey, I die." Bubbles sat back again, clapping her hands together in cold jollity, and spilling some of her tea. She made no effort to clean it up. It was probably the least offensive stain in her dwelling. "He made me the most powerful woman in Athkatla and enslaved me, all in one go."

"_Clever,_" breathed Irenicus, twirling the ring about her finger. She snatched it away, glaring at him. He sat up straight on the backless stool and addressed her once more. This time in a far colder, more straightforward way. "In that case we can dispense with the deceit."

"You mean you weren't _really _going to help me bring back my lost love out of the goodness of your heart?" cried Bubbles, feigning a swoon. "You astonish me."

"I require Eric's soul to heal me from my current affliction," Irenicus told her, bluntly. "I had his sisters but one is dead. The other is so weak that she would barely be useable, even if she weren't addicted to numbing potions. Your geas requires you to bring Eric back from the dead, so do so. When he reforms in the Prime, I will take his soul then slay the shell. I will be cured and you will be free. What say you?"

Bubbles chuckled, winding her ponytail around her finger flirtatiously.

"I have had many masters, but out of all of them I think I hate Eric the most," she confided. "Because I loved him first. For the first time in my life, he made me hope. He promised me freedom, and he gave me this. You mean to rob him not just of his life, but his soul you say…?"

She paused and pursed her ruby lips.

"One condition. You will release the captives I saw in your dungeon. I do not make deals with slave masters."

"Agreed," Irenicus said at once.

He would trade a thousand Arowans for one Eric. The Tree of Life, the Seladrine and perhaps most importantly that treacherous snake Ellesime, were attainable once more. The ranger and her feeble party were a small price to pay. Besides he could always recapture them later if he needed to.

She held out her soft, powdered hand. Irenicus grasped it. Her long, colourful nails chinked against the steel bolts holding his digits together. His nails were colourful too, green and yellow with decay. They shook on it.

"Then we have a deal," Bubbles smiled.

There was one obvious snag. He could not set Imoen free, but already the seeds of an idea were forming to deal with that problem. The Cowled Wizards did not permit unauthorized use of magic in the streets. All he needed to do was bait her into performing some spell, and they would capture her for him. It hardly invalidated his deal with Bubbles if _someone else _imprisoned Imoen as a result of her own actions.

"You will have every resource at your disposal," he promised eagerly. "My notes, my books, my servants! Have you a plan?"

"Yes, of sorts," replied Bubbles. "I did not come to Athkatla only for you. I seek the tomb, or rather tombs, of Kangaxx the Demilich. His spirit has in its possession an artefact known as the Ring of Gaxx."

"I have heard of it," nodded Irenicus.

"Eric coveted that ring ever since he read about it in the great library of Candlekeep," she went on in a low voice. "He always meant to take it for himself one day. Finding it won't be easy, and recovering it from Kangaxx even less so, but once I have it, I can harness its enormous power to restore him. This lich will be buried in several places, his enemies chopped him into pieces to try to prevent his ever returning. I had the Shadow Thieves scouring the graveyard for signs of his resting places, but after I let so many of them die in your compound, I don't think they'll trust me anymore so…"

"I will put my best thief on it," Irenicus promised. "Clara should have an easier time exploring the graveyard than your Shadow Thieves. I will instruct my sister and her fledglings to leave her alone while she works."

"So that's where my thieves kept going." Bubbles scowled. A large black flake of makeup peeled from her eye and drifted down into her teacup. Irenicus pretended to take a sip of his. He did not think that she meant to intentionally poison him, but Carbos made an unhygienic tea lady. Bubbles smiled. "Well, bygones be bygones. To business then."

"Indeed," said Irenicus, rising from the chair. He had to lean heavily on her table to do it. The bolts on his knees were over-tightened. He grew weaker by the day, but it was worth putting his return off a little longer to harness the essence of a stronger Bhaalspawn.

"By the way," Bubbles called after him, and he paused in the doorway. "What's in that parcel you're carrying?"

Irenicus smiled, a thin-lipped smile.

"A reconciliation gift for my dear 'sister.' She is most displeased that I let the Hero of Baldur's Gate kill her so many times for my experiments, but this should make it up to her."

He unwrapped the package and displayed its content to Bubbles. The courtesan gasped. Simultaneously her nose wrinkled but her fingers reached out to stroke the object. It was both breathtakingly lovely and utterly repugnant. Irenicus wrapped it up once more with a satisfied smirk.

"I have an old acquaintance in this district who can treat and tailor it for me," he explained. "He normally works exclusively with leathers, but I feel sure that I can 'persuade' him to make an exception for this commission."

"I am sure your sister will love it," replied Bubbles, weakly. She could think of little else to say.

* * *

* * *

"Wake up! Wake up you! Come on, we have to get out of here!"

"Imoen?" Arowan asked blearily. "What's going on? Where are… _oh gods!"_

She backed up into the bars of the cage and started panting wildly. Imoen pushed the key hastily back into her pocket. It seemed too convenient that it, basic weapons and a huge cache of numbing and healing potions had been right in front of her in an open chest, but Imoen wanted out too badly to question it.

"Open up Arowan. Down the hatch, c'mon," Imoen whispered hastily, tipping a fresh numbing potion down her throat until Arowan stopped shaking. It took a good two-thirds of the bottle. At once the ranger stood up calmly, brushed herself off and strode past her childhood friend as though she were not even there.

"Much better. Thank you," Arowan said mildly. "What happened?"

In truth, she knew perfectly well what had happened. Irenicus had plainly stated to both her and Yoshimo what he intended to do the night before. Her brother, Eric was to take her place. She was once again demoted to the position of 'backup option.' She would leave the complex, taking her friends with her if she liked. Yoshimo was tasked with following her and keeping her alive. Imoen was to be recaptured upon exiting the complex.

And as coldly as a dead eel, Arowan had agreed.

In this respect she was no different from Eric, Gamaz, or any other numbing potion addict. She did not maim or torture like they had, but this was simply because her goals did not require her to. If committing such evil acts furthered the cause of releasing Khalid and Jaheira from this place, she would not have thought twice about it. Nor did she hesitate to throw Imoen to the wolves, to secure their freedom. It was necessary. It was important.

She would not inform Jaheira of her husband's death either, until the last possible minute. Grief might delay their escape from the complex. Nor did she intend to tell them about Yoshimo. Once Jaheira discovered that he worked for the man who had done this to them, she would send him away or murder him. That was not part of the deal Irenicus had offered. If he died or was dismissed, the wizard might decide to capture them once more, and that must not be allowed to happen.

So Arowan feigned ignorance. This was not difficult when her behaviour was already so strange. No acting was required. Irenicus had led her to a cage, next to where Minsc and Jaheira were locked up and drugged. Jaheira was just coming around now, grumbling and blinking blearily.

"I don't want to remember it all," Imoen replied shakily. "He's been doing things to us… we have to get out of here!"

"Not without Khalid and Jaheira," Arowan said solidly. She paused and asked in a tone of mild curiosity, "What things?"

Imoen's eyes widened. She seemed bowled over by the insensitivity of the question. But of course it was not the ranger's fault. Numbing potions left her entirely devoid of empathy.

"Come on Arowan, don't make me think of it," she pleaded. "He did the same to you, I think. You were screaming like it anyway."

This puzzled Arowan exceedingly, for Irenicus had not dared lay a finger on her. Not when she was his last chance and already in such a delicate state of health. Besides he had little reason to. It was Imoen's soul he needed to shatter, not her own.

"Oh, of course! The screaming!" Arowan remembered with an empty laugh. Jaheira was peering out at her ward with mounting anxiety. "No, he wasn't doing anything to me. I was just copying you. I was trying to recall what fear felt like, but it upset Yoshimo so I stopped."

"Yoshimo?" demanded Jaheira. "Is that the name of our captor? And Imoen, let me out of here girl!"

"No, he is a prisoner here, like us," replied Arowan, semi-truthfully. "Irenicus is our captor's name. He had Yoshimo administer my numbing potions and watch me at night to make sure I didn't go into withdrawal."

"Numbing potions," Jaheira echoed in a horrified voice. "It's true then."

"He… he left you alone?" Imoen asked, as she unlocked the druid's cage. There was a ruefulness, bordering on resentment in her tone. Jaheira rounded on her the second she got out.

"You may have got off the lighter of the two of you!" Jaheira admonished her. "Weaning a person off of numbing potions without killing them is a most unpleasant process, assuming we can do it at all. Once we get out of here we will need to find a cleric and quickly. How did _you _get out?"

"There was fighting and my cell was damaged," Imoen said. "Assassins came after our captor, I think. There are bodies everywhere. Oh, please let's move! We need to get out quickly before he comes back! Arowan, I found your bow. There are weapons and armour in the chests next door, let's get Minsc and go!"

Jaheira's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Imoen's cage conveniently damaged by accident and their equipment was just sat in a chest waiting for them, along with the keys?

"This is too easy," she said slowly. "Something isn't right here."

"Can we worry about that _after_ we escape?" pleaded Imoen.

Too easy indeed. Everything was left in the chest, even Freya's dragonhide armour and Sarevok's sword which Minsc himself barely had the strength to wield. They took it with them anyway, strapped to the berserker's bulky back. It was a powerful weapon and might come in handy one day, if for no other purpose than to sell it.

Reequipped and healed, fighting their way through the complex against a smattering of goblins and duergar was no challenge at all. The further they got meeting no real resistance, the more unsettling Jaheira found it. Minsc did not care, he was kicking numerous butts and was the happiest she had seen him since Dynaheir died. Imoen was too preoccupied with escaping the dungeon to think on it. Arowan too dismissed her concerns, but she was up to her eyeballs in numbing potion so her opinion didn't count.

When they passed a room full of suffering creatures in jars, Imoen did not want to go in. Arowan, however, insisted. She secretly wished to double check that Khalid had not been placed in one overnight. He had not, but in the middle of the room was a tank containing a dead beholder.

"This must have been the one Irenicus had in mind for Freya," Arowan remarked, as placidly as though she were commenting on the weather.

"What? _Why?_" Jaheira gawped.

"It was the only way to keep her alive after he skinned her," the ranger said.

Imoen began to look fretful that Arowan would blurt out the whole story, but she stopped at the part where Khalid had put Freya out of her misery. Afterward, driven temporarily insane by the experiments and the death of one of her Bhaalspawn, Imoen had slain Khalid herself. Arowan wisely refrained from mentioning this to the druid.

She stroked the glass thoughtfully, only to find it shattering under her hand. Jaheira was smashing the jars one by one with the end of her staff, until they were standing in a pool of preservative fluids and twitching, dying things.

"An affront to nature!" Jaheira said, looking around in satisfaction at her handiwork. "If letting us out is some twisted mind game, at least we may now be sure we will not end up in one of these vile containers!"

"Very sensible," agreed Arowan. She turned one of the jar creatures over. "This used to be an elf. I suppose it wasn't only Bodhi who followed him into exile."

Between the three of them, as they explored the complex, they managed to piece together some of Irenicus' history. They had already known he had once been an elf. Freya's werewolf nose had told them as much when the Hero had still been alive. Arowan and Imoen had both seen the mistresses' room during their stay and her unfortunate clones. Moreover, the ranger had been cold-fishing him like a fortune teller during their time in the library. Apparently this woman had cursed him in some way that made him behave as though he were on numbing potions. He had lost the longevity of his people, was dying slowly, and he needed a Bhaalspawn soul to fix it.

The dryads were still in their grove, but unable to abandon their trees. In any case, they seemed reluctant to have anything to do with Arowan. Her behaviour on numbing potions reminded them too forcefully of Irenicus. They pleaded with the group to find their acorns and take them to their Queen, but Arowan would entertain no distraction from her goal of freeing Jaheira. It was a decision, along with many others taken under the influence of the numbing potions, that would gnaw at her conscience later.

They found Yoshimo close to the entrance, where Arowan had known he would be.

"So, there is sanity in this madness!" he cried, striding toward them. "If you are not in league with the evil that dwells in this unholy place, Yoshimo begs your assistance."

'_Way to ham it up," _thought Arowan.

Jaheira's suspicions were already sky high, and this poor acting raised her hackles instantly. It was only at Arowan's unflinching insistence that she allowed the thief to join their party, and the druid did not take her eyes off of him once.

At least not until they ran into her husband's body.

"Kha- Khalid?" she cried. At first she tried to heal the body, but he had been dead for too long and torn too deeply by Freya's fangs. Then she flew from denial into a savage, vengeful rage. "The Hero of Baldur's Gate did this! Would that I could resurrect her to make her suffer as she deserves!"

"Irenicus flayed her alive. I think she suffered," Arowan said. Imoen let out an anguished sob but Jaheira turned on her daughter, incandescent.

"How can you…? He was your father! He loved you like his own child!" she howled. "How can you speak of his death so coldly? How can you stare at his body with such indifference?" She looked about her despairingly. "Is this the game then? To let us believe we had our freedom, then lead us to this? You have had your fun Irenicus! Come out, come out wherever you are!"

"Stop!" whimpered Imoen. "You'll bring him down on us all…"

"I don't care, foolish waif!" screamed Jaheira. She brushed off comfort from Minsc and Yoshimo with equal ferocity, and Arowan offered none. As the druid sent her prayers for his soul to Sylvanus, Arowan calmly lifted her father under the arms. "What… what are you doing?"

"Taking him out," replied the ranger, undeterred.

"He.. Khalid is dead, and has been for some time! Beyond a point there can be no raising, especially when the body has been… has been desecrated!" Jaheira protested. "What are you…? Leave him alone! Stop!"

"She won't stop," sighed Yoshimo. "No matter what you say. I was tasked with watching her while our captor slept. She is obsessed with getting the two of you out. I believe she thinks of little else."

"Why did he feed her numbing potions?" sobbed Jaheira. "Why did he turn her into this?"

"Irenicus didn't give me the potions, I took them myself," said Arowan chirpily. "When I saw what he did to Freya, I was too frightened to wait for him to come for me. But I knew I had to get you and Dad out, so I had one of Gamaz's numbing potions. After that everything was fine. I didn't mind him capturing me at all."

There was a stunned silence.

"You… you were not forced to take the numbing potions?" Jaheira asked, her voice shaking. "You took them voluntarily? For us?"

"Yes."

"STUPID GIRL!" Jaheira screamed, slapping Arowan hard in the face. "HE'LL KILL YOU LIKE HE KILLED FREYA!"

Arowan did not react to the blow, though it made Khalid's body slip in her arms and she had to hoist him up.

"That doesn't matter," she said. "My survival is not important."

"Forgive me if this seems insensitive," Yoshimo bowed to Jaheira with deference. "But I fear we must carry your husband to the surface. She won't leave him here and if we drag her away, she will only return for him the moment our backs are turned."

Jaheira considered asking the thief how he knew this, then thought the better of it. Discovering that Arowan had intentionally allowed herself to be brought here so they could free them, renewed her sense of purpose. She let Arowan and Yoshimo carry Khalid out and they met with no further resistance, though the gods only knew what they would do with him once they reached the surface.

As they neared the exit, the ground grew thick with bodies. A few were duergar. Most were the human Shadow Thieves whom Bubbles had offered to let into their enemy's complex, only to use their deaths as a distraction. Jaheira gradually ceased her evil looks toward Yoshimo. Arowan trusted him, and judging by the corpses littered about their feet, Irenicus and the local thieves were not on friendly terms. It made perfect sense that he might have a captive one locked up.

"This is it! The way out!" Arowan panted.

"I do not see Irenicus amongst the fallen," muttered Jaheira darkly. "He left us our best weapons, practically invited us to escape. Why is it so easy?"

But Imoen had seen daylight and was hurtling to it with unstoppable determination. Arowan too, hampered only by carrying Khalid. The moment they reached the surface there was an explosion and the tunnel collapsed behind them, blocking the way back.

"He's resealing the compound! He means to prevent us from going back in there!" cried Jaheira.

"Do you _want _to go back in there?" asked Yoshimo, incredulously. "Because I don't!"

"So, god-child, you have escaped. You are more resourceful than I had thought."

They all froze, except Imoen who let out a petrified wail. Irenicus was waiting for them, standing atop a large boulder overlooking the entrance. Arowan was near seething at yet more terrible acting, for he had let her go, but Jaheira was nodding resignedly. She had been saying the whole time that it had been too simple. He looked coldly at Arowan. "And now I will slay the Bhaalspawn!"

His words had the intended effect. Threatening to end the life of the last surviving Candlekeep Bhaalspawn threw Imoen into a murderous rage. She couldn't reach him physically, high up as he was, so she hurled a magic missile instead.

"No Imoen, this is Athkatla!" Jaheira screamed, but it was too late. Already Cowled Wizards were materializing all around them.

Ignoring her protests, which quickly escalated to feral screams, they arrested Imoen. Irenicus sneered at the party as he calmly allowed himself to be teleported away with them.

"What just happened?" Arowan asked mildly.

"It is illegal for unregistered wizards to use magic in this city," Jaheira moaned. "They'll have taken her to the wizard prison of Spellhold. No-one ever gets out once they go in!"

A roasting sun shone down on the rocks and after so long in the dark, the party had to squint to see. They were still carrying Khalid's body, but with so many Shadow Thief corpses scattered around, nobody paid them much attention. In fact the merchants, shoppers and guards were displaying an _unnatural _lack of interest in the scene of devastation that had just unfolded before them. Whatever this guild war was, they were too afraid to get involved.

"Well then," said Arowan, brightly. "What do you say we find somewhere to deposit Dad, and go get a spot of lunch?"


	3. Prophecy

"Where are you taking us?" sighed Minsc. "Boo is growing weary, and a tired miniature giant space hamster is no use in combat at all."

"This is the temple district of Athkatla," Jaheira said, casting around to decide which faith would be her best bet. The Ilmatari would be most inclined to aid one of their own but Arowan's sect were, by their very nature, poor. Caring for the ranger while they weaned her off numbing potions was going to be resource intensive.

The temples rose, marble and magnificent amongst stunning waterways. Above a sparkling ornamental lake, stone bridges crisscrossed. These were decorated with fine carved statues of the various faiths on offer. Evidence of the power of Faerun's deities was on full display. Lightning seared across the ominous dome of Talos' temple. Rainbows of coloured light beamed from the stained glass windows of the Morning Lord.

Her eye was drawn to the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart. Torm, Tyr and Helm all in one place. Three gods for the price of one. Surely one of them would take pity on her. She shot a sideways glance at Arowan, and could not help wishing that the ranger's charisma were not so pitifully low. This was going to be a hard sell.

"Listen to me my brothers and sisters! Heed my words," a blind preacher was appealing in the street. A circle of onlookers had gathered around him. Some were heckling, others seemed intrigued. "We are privileged to live in a time of miracles. I, Gaal who have been stripped of my eyes most mercifully, have had the honour of standing in the presence of the Chosen One!"

Arowan froze mid-step. She had been so preoccupied with freeing her parents that the Chosen One had almost slipped her mind. Yet that too had been… important.

"The Servant of all Faiths walks among us!" Gaal promised, passionately. "The time of prophecy is at hand. I call on you to abandon your false prophets and follow the one true path, led by the one all gods have chosen. Cast them aside, and join me in the calling of true sight!"

He led the way blindly toward the sewers. Arowan followed him along with several other onlookers, but Yoshimo and Jaheira seized her firmly by the arms. They steered her back in the direction of the Radiant Heart.

"No cults for you, crazy lady," sighed Yoshimo. "Come on."

"Out of my way! The Order must be informed of this blasphemy!" A flustered squire of Helm who had been watching the blind preacher's speech shoved past them.

Yoshimo was knocked forward and, dropping Arowan, fell onto his face in the street. He was too badly winded from the impact of the ground to hurl an insult at his accidental assailant. The squire who had bumped into him did not even pause to apologise. The thief reached instinctively for a dart. The man was in full plate, but it was not of particularly good quality. Yoshimo spied a gap where the thigh met his bottom that he fancied his chances of piercing.

"Don't!" hissed Jaheira, as Yoshimo took aim. "Look at the insignia on his cloak! Do you think that the Radiant Heart are going to help Arowan if one of their members shows up with your dart in his buttocks?"

Arowan stopped struggling against Jaheira. She had been about to try to fight her way back to the sewers, but now she was staring wide eyed at the squire. That hair! That voice!

From behind, at least, he resembled a cleric that she had only seen in visions. Horrible visions of a terrible future that Dorn Il-Khan and his demon master Ur-Gothoz schemed to bring about. Only the Servant of all Faiths had the power to prevent the massacre she had seen. That blind preacher had said the servant was here in Athkatla, and now the cleric was as well.

They steered Arowan toward the Radiant Heart, as she craned back over her shoulder at the preacher, trying to see which way he went. Now that her parents were safely out and Khalid's body slumbering in a shallow grave a short distance from the city, her next priority was to protect the Servant of all Faiths. She had not expected to run into her again so quickly. It was a small world, and speaking of small worlds…

"Dorn!" Jaheira exclaimed, stopping short.

"No!" breathed Arowan. They stared at her. It was the first glimmer of anything approaching feelings that they had seen her demonstrate on numbing potions. "He's here too. This must not be!"

Her party were looking at her like she was insane.

"Jaheira, can't you see what is happening?" she cried. "The Servant of all Faiths, Dorn Il-Khan, the cleric from Ur-Gothoz's vision. They're all here! This cannot be a coincidence, we must do something. The prophecy is coming true!"

Dorn caught their gaze. He seemed as astonished to see Arowan as she was to see him. He crossed the bridge in wide strides to meet her. The ranger shook herself free of her guardians and sprinted to attack, raising her bow as she went. Slaying Dorn would not stop the nightmare future from coming about, Ur-Gothoz would simply replace him with another Blackguard. But perhaps she could slow it down.

That was when she realised that she had no arrows in her quiver. She turned in horrified fury, to see that Yoshimo had confiscated them from her and was tapping them in his hands.

"Mad pickpocket!" she hollered. "Do you have any idea what you have just done?"

"Saved your life, crazy girl, he would have butchered you!" Yoshimo retorted, with a good-natured grin.

His smile vanished rapidly as Dorn pulled out his huge sword, Rancor. With a battle cry that was really quite convincing, he and Minsc charged forward. Yet Dorn was not attacking. Instead he was offering the sword to Arowan, handle first.

"No," Arowan snapped, refusing to take it.

At close range, Dorn did not look well. The half-orc's body was covered in half-healed wounds and his armour had been ripped. He was still a fearsome size but compared to when they had last travelled together, he had certainly lost weight. His hair was dishevelled and judging by the smell he had gone a long time without a bath, even by his standards.

"Hold it!" Dorn insisted. The murderous Blackguard seemed peculiarly agitated. He paused as though having difficulty getting a distasteful word out. Finally he managed a reluctant, "Please."

"Why?" demanded Jaheira.

"I failed to slay the Chosen of all Faiths and my patron thinks that Arowan is lost," Dorn panted. "His fury is beyond measure. Ur-Gothoz has been sending me on increasingly suicidal missions as punishment. This latest venture would have me storming the Order of the Radiant Heart single handed."

"I would have thought you would relish such a battle," Arowan responded dryly.

"This would be no battle but an execution," protested Dorn. "I doubt I could fell a respectable dozen paladins and squires before my fall. But it is not death that I fear. The doom he will have prepared for my spirit as retribution for my failure will be worse than a thousand such deaths. Let me show him that you yet live. Take Rancor! Just for a moment."

A dozen dead paladins sounded like a lot to Arowan, but she lacked the empathy to care. She did not, however, want Dorn to follow that cleric of Helm into the Order Headquarters. Those two had to be kept apart.

"If I hold Rancor and let your boss see me, you have to swear to leave the temple district," Arowan said sharply. "And do not come back!"

"I swear it!" Dorn cried eagerly. "Just let him see that you are still here…"

"How does this make up for failing to murder Viconia?" Jaheira asked. "So-called brutal half-orc could not fell one tiny little drow. Viconia is what? A fifth of your weight, if that?"

"That 'tiny drow' had the blessing of all gods that night," Dorn replied darkly. "Umberlee whipped up the sea to slow me, Talos sent lightening down from the heavens, Arowan's own god Ilmater dropped his sign down on me. Even her goddesses' eternal enemy Selune lighted her way. I barely escaped with my life. Ur-Gothoz will forgive that part, for it seems that destroying the Chosen One cannot be done."

Arowan was undecided. It was through the handle of the blade that Dorn's demon master liked to torment her with visions of his hellish plans. She had no particular desire to see the burning city again.

"Enough toying with me!" blasted Dorn, losing his patience. "If you truly believe in your Ilmatari teachings of mercy and they are not merely hollow words, then take the blade. Show Ur-Gothoz you live, that my life may be spared."

The ranger sighed and reached for it, intending only a moment's contact. As her fingers brushed the hilt of the blade, a flurry of images that had grown quite familiar fluttered before her eyes.

...

_A dark metropolis on fire, its charcoal steeples crumbling in an inferno of orange and red. Charred and blackened bodies were everywhere, and the air rang with despairing wails. The elves had separated out a group of defiant drow women. They were each carrying heavy bellies._

"_Not them too, surely?" the cleric pleaded. "You can't possibly mean to-"_

"_Cast detect evil," grunted Dorn. "And we shall see."_

_..._

The vision faded. Arowan withdrew her fingers from the evil sword. Even in her current, warped frame of mind, this was repellent.

"Thank you," grunted Dorn.

"Run Blackguard," Arowan snarled between gritted teeth. "Or by all the gods, I will put an end to whatever your bestial master has planned for me, by throwing myself into the canal."

Knowing full well that on numbing potions she might actually follow through on that threat, Yoshimo and Jaheira lunged to grab hold of her again. Dorn raised a dark eyebrow and made a thoughtful noise.

"Very well, Little Lamb, but we will see each other again. I am certain."

* * *

* * *

"This is Gorion's ward? The Hero of Baldur's Gate?" the Order of the Radiant Heart's on-duty clerk peered over his spectacles and sniffed. "From the stories I'd heard I expected someone more… impressive."

"This is one of Gorion's other wards. The last survivor of twelve," Jaheira informed him. "The Hero of Baldur's Gate is dead, at the hands of a mage named Irenicus. We have only just escaped his clutches ourselves."

"Pity," replied the clerk sourly. "If ever there was a city in need of a Hero, it is this one."

Eventually, and largely thanks to Jaheira's assertive insistence, they gained an audience with the elders of the Order. Arowan was under strict instructions to keep her mouth closed. Her charisma was low enough naturally, and the lack of consideration for other's feelings caused by numbing potions didn't help. She looked around idly while Jaheira spoke, in search of the Helmite cleric. A hundred judgemental eyes looked back at her from statues, murals and banners, but none of them were his.

"Those eyes are creepy," Arowan said, pointing to the ever-vigilant eye of Helm. This was entirely the wrong thing to say of course, and gave immediate offence. There was a great deal of huffing and humphing amongst the paladins. Jaheira looked like she would quite like to throttle her daughter, though Yoshimo had to fake coughing to conceal his smile.

"I beg you to consider her cause," the thief interjected, as the old knights waivered. "This ranger is a good person, worth saving. I first met her on the road from Baldur's Gate, where I was escorting refugees fleeing Caelar's crusade. She gave them the last of her food."

"Typical Ilmatari thing to do," one of the senior paladins asserted brashly. "How do you expect people to stand on their own two feet if you train them to live off of charity?"

"In this case those children_ were_ standing on their own two feet. Their own two shoeless feet and had been for miles!" the thief retorted, a hint of anger creeping into his voice.

The paladin squared up to Yoshimo. She was considerably taller than him, bulkier and dressed in shining plate mail. The overall effect resembled a metal golem. The thief swallowed and raised his hands in a placating gesture.

"Does this look like a temple of Ilmater to you?" she demanded. "Are we to start taking in strays on the recommendation of a common thief?"

"The Ilmatari do not have the resources to-" Jaheira began, in a last-ditch attempt to salvage the situation.

"Might I make a suggestion?" cut in a middle-aged paladin, who until this moment had kept silent. He had a kind, fatherly face and he looked rather pityingly at the ranger, who stared blankly back at him.

"Sir Keldorn," the first paladin nodded with respect. She stepped back smartly, shooting a nasty glare at Yoshimo.

"Young Anomen has just informed me that the Cult of the Unseeing Eye are recruiting again," Keldorn said grimly. A murmur of discontent rippled through the other paladins. "Apparently they are now attempting to co-opt the prophecies surrounding the Servant of all Faiths into their heresy."

_Anomen. _The weeping cleric from her visions now had a name. Now that her parents were removed from the compound, there was but one thing left in the world that mattered to Arowan. The numbing potions would not permit any new feelings or drives to get in the way. This future that Ur-Gothoz had planned must never come true. She must aid the real Servant of all Faiths and, above all, keep Dorn and Anomen apart.

"The squires we sent into the sewers to investigate found nothing but kobolds," Keldorn went on grimly. "This time I mean to go myself. However this sort of undertaking may benefit from…" his eyes narrowed in distaste.

"You can say 'a thief,'" Yoshimo told him, good-humouredly.

"…an expert in trap disabling," Keldorn said sternly.

"You propose a trade then?" Jaheira asked. "We shall aid you in dealing with this cult and, in return you will assist us in rehabilitating Arowan?"

"We may require other services from time to time," the first paladin said. "And we cannot promise success. I have never heard of anyone taking two bottles of numbing potions a day. It is a miracle she is still alive. Your ranger must have the constitution of an ox!"

"Weaning her off of them will take time," agreed Keldorn. "Time, patience and a great many healing spells. We leave in the morning, and we'll need to take a cleric with us too…"

"Anomen!" Arowan said immediately. "We should take Anomen."

"You know the young gentleman?" Keldorn raised a greying eyebrow.

"No… erm… only by reputation," Arowan improvised hastily.

If she could manoeuvre the cleric into her party, keeping him away from Dorn and his master would be much simpler. She tried to think of something to say which wasn't _exactly _a lie. The eyes of the Vigilant One glared down at her from every direction and she suspected that they might have means of detecting deception.

"I believe that Anomen has the potential for a great destiny," she said.

There, that would do. A great and _horrible _destiny, that she meant to keep him from rather than encourage. But technically it was not a lie.

Keldorn sighed and rubbed his beard. The party agreed to his terms and were found rooms to reside in. They dined well that evening on roast beef served with carrots and stodgy piles of potatoes. Keeping up the paladins' strength was clearly top priority for the kitchen staff and it soon became apparent why.

Belonging to the Order was not all galloping steeds and shiny armour. Arowan was to sleep in the infirmary where the clerics could keep an eye on her, and there she saw the other side of paladinhood. Gruesome injuries that reminded her of the aftermath of the Dragonspear battles. Moaning cursed and injured knights and squires. There were almost as many of them recovering in the infirmary as she had seen walking about upstairs.

The dangerous numbing potions had to be surrendered to the Order's possession. She had long since run out of Gamaz's original supply. These were ones that Irenicus had managed to procure from somewhere. The Order's clerics were prepared to make her more but they would not risk them getting into the hands of the local populace. They would control and administer them.

The next morning at breakfast, they were formally introduced to squire Anomen. His demeanour showed nothing of the broken, sobbing man whom Arowan had seen in Ur-Gothoz's visions. In fact she found him comically pompous. He was delighted that a party of random strangers had 'heard of him by reputation' and was regaling them with not-quite believable tales of his exploits.

"I understand you are a child of Bhaal. That is no heritage to be proud of," he told Arowan. "Now tell me true, are you a force for good or evil?"

Jaheira and Yoshimo glared, but the ranger was far too numb to feel the insult. She simply smiled encouragingly and poured him more water. Yoshimo's scowl deepened.

"I liked to think I was a force for good before the numbing potions," Arowan replied with ill-advised honesty. "Now I think I'm just a force for what is necessary and important."

"And what is 'necessary and important,' little one?" Anomen laughed patronizingly. Yoshimo had to force back an eyeroll. The squire was no older than Arowan, and perhaps even a few years younger.

"Preventing a great evil," Arowan said, adding sincerely, "And I believe your presence in my party will help me to do that."

"By Torm, don't tell the boy that!" Keldorn whispered in a low voice, so that only Jaheira could hear him. "That lad's head hardly needs to grow any bigger." The druid nodded sagely.

"If your goal in life is to prevent evil, then by definition you are a force for good!" Anomen beamed, satisfied. "Perchance I have found worthy companions. I seek to be knighted to this Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart, and I must prove my worth first. Honour and adventure await us!"

He shot a winning smile across the table at Jaheira. They had told him that the druid was the girl's mother. He assumed this must mean adopted-mother, and not just because she had no elfin heritage. In his opinion, Arowan had inherited none of her mother's beauty.

Later that morning, he observed as much to Keldorn as they made their way through the sewers two abreast. The two knights led the way, the two women brought up the rear. Minsc and Yoshimo walked between them in the middle.

"A nice, but plain girl," Anomen noted smugly. "I must be careful not to lead the poor thing on."

Unfortunately the echoing acoustics in the tunnels meant that his voice was carrying rather further than he thought it was. Yoshimo heard him and rolled his eyes again. Though the presence of a cleric was a necessary precaution for Arowan's health, he was rapidly forming a dislike of squire Anomen.

"Minsc will lead her on!" the ranger declared with a beaming smile. Everybody stared at him. "Minsc will lead you all on, to butt kicking magnificence. Starting with those icky, sticky oozes I see lurking at the end of this tunnel. RAAAGGGHHH!"

"Maybe we should ask the infirmary to take a look at that one too?" Anomen muttered quietly to Keldorn as the berserker raced past them, sword raised. The older knight grimaced and nodded.

It was not a fight to the squire's taste. The oozes proved no great obstacle, but they stank and were tricky to dislodge from the gaps in his armour. They followed Keldorn to the cultists' base, picking bits of slime from them as they went.

"Minsc my good fellow," said Keldorn, patting him on the back. "Are you feeling yourself again? You seemed lost in your rage for a moment there."

"Slime moulds are _not _a favourite of Minsc and Boo," the Rashemen declared, raising a sausage-like finger. "For starters, they have no butts to kick, as far as we can tell. Nor do they have eyes for which Boo can go, which limits a miniature giant space hamster's efficacy in close-quarters combat!"

"I… see." Keldorn slipped back and walked alongside Anomen again. "We'll get him looked at, but I fear this one's mind may be beyond the aid of modern magic."

* * *

* * *

"This is your brother's so called 'best thief?'" Bubbles complained. "She's nothing but a gibbering imbecile!"

"Clara?" Bodhi peered into the purple-haired thief's vacant face. She prised her eyes open wide with thumb and forefinger and peered inside. "She's normally quite effective."

"I am… Hexxat," the thief corrected her in a distant shaky voice. "That is who I am. Can you help me? I need… I need to get to Dragomir's tomb."

"_You_ are supposed to be helping _me _petal," Bubbles reminded her. "What is in Dragomir's tomb? Did you find the markings I asked you to look for?"

"No markings. Treasure… There is a great treasure there…" Clara mumbled.

Bubbles gave Bodhi an underwhelmed look and drummed her brightly coloured nails on the gravestone in front of her. An owl hooted in a nearby tree and a crescent moon hung in the sky. It was very atmospheric. Bubbles tugged her shawl closer about her. It was also uncomfortably chilly if you weren't undead.

"Don't blame us! She wasn't like this when Irenicus sent her to scout the graveyard," Bodhi mused. "She must have set off a trap or been cursed or something. I daresay he can fix her when he gets back."

"No curse… must go to Dragomir's tomb… great treasure…"

"I get more sense out of Shank and Carbos," Bubbles yawned crossly. "And is it really necessary to meet at the stroke of midnight? Ten-thirty wouldn't do? A working girl like me trades off her looks darling. I need my beauty sleep."

The elfin vampire had no response to this. She had populated her guild with young and beautiful fledglings, whom she liked to be surrounded by. Bubbles would not be a contender, regardless of how much sleep she got. It was not the first time Bodhi had been unimpressed by the alliances her brother had made in the pursuit of Eric's soul. First that filthy drow Baeloth, and now a common prostitute. Clara was wandering off in the direction of Dragomir's tomb. Bubbles rolled her painted eyes and waved her fingers dismissively. "Let her go. I have no use for another zombie."

"Not to worry. I too have been attempting to locate Kangaxx. My servants' efforts have yielded more fruit than my brother's have," Bodhi announced smugly. She snapped her fingers and one of her fledglings appeared between the tombstones carrying an eyeless man in rags by the scruff of his collar. "Meet Gaal."

"The hells is that supposed to be?" asked Bubbles, wrinkling her nose. When she unwrinkled it, grooves remained in her thick makeup.

"Repent! Repent unbelievers!" the blind prophet squeaked. He resembled a skeleton with skin. "Release me or suffer the wrath of the Unseeing Eye!"

"We'll let you go, don't you fret," smiled Bodhi in a predatory sort of way. "But first, why don't you tell my friend all about the sarcophagus we saw in your cult's grotty little lair?"

* * *

* * *

Winter in Athkatla never grew so cold as the snowy season in Baldur's Gate. During the day the sun still shone bright in the sky, but at night a chill set in. Particularly down here in the sewers where no natural light could penetrate.

The top layer of sewer scum had frozen. Every step broke a thin layer of faecal ice, and the cold slurry below it eked into their boots. They had been searching all day and had only just located the cultists.

They would have time for a quick peek but then they must give up and return to the Order for the night. The only one who was not suffering from the cold was Arowan. As former ranger of the Cloud Peak mountains, the villagers had gifted her frost-resistant boots.

"How do they live down here? It is so cold! Even with his fur coat Boo is freezing his tiny paws off!" Minsc shivered.

"What is the plan paladin?" asked Jaheira.

"We will purge these blasphemers!" Anomen cried. "Stay behind me, my lady, and you will be quite safe I assure you!"

"I think the most prudent course would be to find out more about them first," Keldorn said repressively. "We could infiltrate the cult under the guise of wishing to join. It may be that there are those among them who can be saved."

"I have heard the prophecies, we all have," said Yoshimo. "Should we consider the possibility that the Chosen of all Faiths really is down here?"

"Living in a sewer?" scoffed Anomen. "You Ilmatari really are a superstitious lot."

Arowan cocked her head to one side at the entrance to the cultists base. There was nothing from the outside that distinguished it from any other sewer hatch. They had explored the extensive sewers all day and seen no sign of it until, by chance, they stumbled upon one of their preachers returning home from the streets. He seemed to sense well enough where he was going but, having no eyes, did not detect the party at a distance. Keldorn put Yoshimo's stealth to work following him, and the thief had led them here.

"The Servant of all Faiths will live wherever she can survive," said Arowan, stroking slime off the wall vacantly and balling it up between her thumb and forefinger. "And I certainly would not put it past Viconia to start a cult."

She idly flicked the slime glob at the back of Anomen's helmet where it stuck. Yoshimo's lip twitched. Keldorn stopped short and turned around, sword in hand.

"Did I hear that correctly?" he growled. "Do you seriously profess not only to know the identity of the Chosen One but to be personally acquainted with her?"

"A grand boast indeed," noted Anomen, scornfully.

"You wouldn't say that if you'd met her," said Arowan dryly, but Keldorn was concerned.

"What becomes of our mission if the Unseeing Eye is this 'Viconia?' Will you still be prepared to work against her?" he asked. "Would you purge her evil from Faerun if needs be?"

"If you mean 'am I willing to kill her,' the answer is no," replied Arowan. "However much I might like to. The Servant of all Faiths must survive. Besides, I'm not certain that killing her is even possible. As for whether I will work against her, that really depends on what she is doing."

"Gouging people's eyes out apparently," said Jaheira, breaking her stride sharply.

They had been detected. The hatch opened into a reception room of sorts, though to call it a 'room' was generous. More a sort of alcove where the sewer water peaked at ankle level. Four guards blocked their way forward. They were alive, but where their eyes should be were crusted, gaping sockets.

"Dear gods!" exclaimed Keldorn.

"There is but one god," replied the guards, speaking as one. Their voices echoed eerily in the small chamber. "We see thou art still afflicted with sight. Pluck out thine vile orbs!"

"Eyes!" the youngest guard finished, incorrectly, as the others said 'orbs.' His fellow elites groaned and the guard to his left cuffed him around the back of the head.

"It's 'orbs' you idiot."

"Eyes makes more sense," the radical complained. "I mean 'orbs' could refer to a lot of body parts. Supposing there was a mistake and they plucked out the wrong bits? Just say 'eyes' and then everybody knows what you're talking about!"

"It doesn't matter! Don't be pedantic," thundered the guard nearest to them, who seemed to be in charge. "The important thing is that we all say the same words. You went and spoiled the whole effect!"

The party exchanged looks. All except Arowan, who raised a curious finger and hooked it into the eye socket of the lead guard. Even Jaheira winced.

"Interesting," the ranger said, inspecting the scar tissue and the way the scabs were healing. "How long ago were your eyes removed?"

The guard stood to attention proudly.

"I have been clean of my accursed eyes these six months past!"

"Huh," said Arowan, releasing his socket and curling her finger around that of the youngest guard. "And you were more recent I assume? Yes… it still bleeds when I do this…"

"Ouch! Stop it!"

"It's hard to see in the dark," Arowan went on vaguely, "Has anyone got a light?"

"What are you, some kind of deviant?" cried the leader of the guards. "What are you doing here? What do you want?"

"I need to see Viconia, the Chosen One," the ranger said. "Tell her that Arowan is here. Tell her I have all her gear from Irenicus' compound, that ought to get her attention."

"There is no Viconia here," the guard replied. "We are led by a prophet named Gaal. Only he was taken from us by some vampires."

"And your all-powerful god let this happen?" Jaheira asked scathingly.

"Dare ye question the Unseeing Eye?" thundered the guard, though there was a tremor of doubt in his voice. "Gaal will return to us, and if you have business with the Servant of all Faiths, you must wait for him."

"How can the Unseeing Eye be both a god _and _the Servant of all Faiths?" Keldorn asked reasonably. "That doesn't make sense. It can be the most powerful god, or the servant of other gods, but surely not both?"

A worried frown line was appearing between the guard's empty sockets, but his stance did not budge. They were all fatigued, and there was no possibility of getting in that evening. They returned to the Order, grateful for a wash, a bed and a hot meal, in the hope that Gaal would return by morning.

* * *

* * *

Gaal, as it happened, was already making his way back. Albeit with difficulty. The powers of perception that he had been gifted in place of his sight only extended a certain distance from the Unseeing Eye. He was groping his way out of the graveyard. Bodhi and Bubbles watched on indifferently.

"If you are satisfied with my efforts, perhaps I might ask you a favour," purred Bodhi. "Independent of your deal with my 'brother.' In fact I would prefer that he not know."

"Right you are. Seven thousand gold pieces," Bubbles shrugged, lifting her skirts.

"No!" exclaimed Bodhi hastily. "That is not what I… _seven thousand? Really?"_

Gaal tripped over a low stone and fell sprawling on his belly. The evil women snickered. Bodhi looked thoughtfully at Bubbles' pulsing throat. She would have to feed after this, if even this creature was starting to look appetizing. Best not to eat Bubbles though. Irenicus needed her, and it was asking to get a mouthful of poisonous lead makeup.

"Do you know how to make a phylactery?" Bodhi asked. Bubbles raised her eyebrow, or at least the ridge where her eyebrow used to be before she plucked it out. Now it was a single, shaky pencil line.

"Yes, I know how to create a minor lich," the courtesan replied curiously. "Eric intended to cheat death by becoming one. He researched it quite extensively."

"If Eric knew how to do that, then why didn't he?" frowned Bodhi.

"Eric never had the opportunity," Bubbles shrugged. "First he couldn't afford it, then he was a captive of Baeloth, then Irenicus, then Freya. The items and ingredients required are not exceedingly rare by our standards, but they were certainly beyond the means of a teenage boy with nothing but the robes on his back. They'll put you back more than seven thousand gold pieces. Fifteen thousand more like it."

Bodhi pursed her lips and fingered her newest acquisition. A black leather catsuit interspersed with chainmail. Sexy but useless and expensive. She regretted the purchase now. She didn't have one thousand gold pieces that wouldn't be missed by Irenicus, never mind fifteen.

"Then you'd need to choose an object to become your phylactery. Something you can keep close but not too obvious," advised Bubbles. "Make it an item unlikely to be tossed away unless you wish to spend eternity haunting a garbage pile. Gold or jewelled items are traditional, but technically you can use anything."

"If I fetch you your gold streetwalker, will you do it?" Bodhi asked.

"Yes," replied Bubbles, "Although it won't help you fight the elf queen's curse, any more than being a vampire has. Your spirit will be tied to the phylactery so you won't actually die… but you may find taking physical form again problematic."

"I will think on it," smiled Bodhi. "Thank you Bubbles. I assume that you will be wanting something in return?"

"Nothing in this life is free precious," Bubbles cackled. "Your brother has a nasty temper I notice. I fear he is angry with me for attacking his compound. Perhaps he means to dispose of me once he has Eric, hmmm? You will use your influence. Dissuade him."

"Very well, harlot," Bodhi nodded. "I will do what I can."

"And stop addressing me by my profession," Bubbles added. "It's getting on my nerves."


	4. Eyes are Forbidden

"DO YOU MEAN TO MOCK ME THIEF?"

Anomen's flaring temper reverberated down through the hallowed halls of the Order of the Radiant Heart, followed closely by Yoshimo's laughter. Keldorn sighed and lowered the spoon of porridge that had been halfway to his mouth. He rose, with a regretful look at his breakfast which seemed destined to go cold. Jaheira stood too, shaking her head.

"It is not easy being responsible for so many children," she sighed.

"Perhaps putting them all in the same dorm was unwise of me," Keldorn groaned. "I thought since we are to be one party it might give the lads a chance to bond. Ah well. Let us go and discover what young Anomen has found to take umbrage with today."

Arowan followed them, bringing her own breakfast with her. This was against Order rules, as taking food to the dormitories encouraged rodents, but nobody argued with her. There were perks to being an invalid.

The issue, it transpired was to do with the division of party equipment. Specifically, a suit of dragonhide armour recovered from Irenicus' compound, along with their other gear. Its original owner was, of course, dead, but it was far too useful and valuable an item to discard. The question was, who was to wear it? Standing at six-foot-three, the Hero of Baldur's Gate had been no pixie. However, Minsc was even bulkier and could not fit his arms into the suit. Then again, the armour hung much too loosely around Yoshimo.

The obvious conclusion was that the best fit would be Anomen. Particularly when his own armour was, for a man of noble birth, strangely poor quality. However, there was an issue. Freya had been uncommonly heavy in the chest area, and the armour had been forged accordingly. Once fitted, it gave the squire the appearance of having breasts.

"I will not be made a laughing stock!" he thundered, struggling free from the armour. "Get this ridiculous thing off of me!"

"Strong armour is better. Would that I could wear it myself!" Minsc advised him wisely. "Minsc would make good use of the extra space in front. Why, we could fit a hamster wheel in there _and _have plenty of space left over for Boo to store all the interesting paraphernalia that he collects in his cheek pouches!"

Anomen hurled the armour onto the nearest bunk, his face flushed in anger. Taking her staff, Jaheira smacked Yoshimo sharply about the back of the legs, and the thief stopped laughing at him. The old paladin rubbed his beard and inspected the armour. Not only was it dragonhide but he could tell that it had been forged by a top-notch smith and laden with protective enchantments. Money had obviously been no object to this Freya when it came to equipping herself. He shuddered to think how powerful Irenicus must be, to successfully bring her down.

"Well if the boy doesn't want it, I'll have it." Keldorn said, unfastening his own armour to try it on. "I daresay my girls would prefer an unfashionably tailored father to having a corpse for a Dad."

There was a stunned silence.

Keldorn's armoured glove shot to his mouth. He looked at Arrow guiltily, realising what he had said and hastily attempted to backtrack.

"I apologise dear lady," he spluttered. "An ill-considered attempt at humour. Given what happened to your father, that was unforgivably insensitive of me."

Arowan shrugged, still preoccupied with shovelling breakfast down her throat.

"She feels nothing, she will be fine!" snapped Jaheira. "Let us be about our business!"

With both knight and squire now rather red in the face, they made their way outside to try their luck again with the cult of the Unseeing Eye. On the way out, Keldorn's new attire attracted more than a few raised eyebrows. Subtlety had never been Freya's trademark and, in addition to her chest being large, the golden designs had been intentionally welded into it in such a way as to draw maximum attention. The aging paladin bore the stares with good-humoured dignity. He had seen enough valiant young men die heroic deaths on the battlefield to value his life more than his pride.

"For what it is worth Sir Keldorn, I think it fits you surprisingly well," said Yoshimo, cheekily appraising the aging paladin's upper half. "There is not so very much vacant space in the top. You may wish to consider cutting back on those Order dinners, my noble friend."

Anomen looked outraged, but Keldorn laughed heartily. "You may have a point young man. Time takes its toll on us all."

Unfortunately, Anomen was still seething. The tension between thief and squire did not go unnoticed by their party leader, and it concerned her. Jaheira had not seen a pair take against each other this quickly since Arowan met Viconia. That had eventually led to one of them trying to murder the other, and her daughter still bore the scars on her cheek from their last scuffle.

"Apologies my friend," Yoshimo smiled, with a half-bow. "An 'ill-considered attempt at humour,' yes?"

* * *

* * *

By lunchtime nobody felt like making any more jokes, and thief and cleric had come to fully accept each other's necessity in the party. Gaal had returned and immediately put the group to work retrieving one half of a magic rod for his 'god,' who turned out to be nothing more than a beholder. A blind one at that.

Arowan's unique combination of numbing potions and non-existent charisma had proven unexpectedly useful in securing their place amongst the followers of the Unseeing Eye. She had managed to creep out even the leader of the eyeless cult. Upon his suggestion that they remove their own eyes, she had promptly pulled out her hunting dagger and told her companions to form a line.

"But we need to join them so that we can find the Servant of all Faiths!" she had protested in confusion, as Yoshimo seized her bodily, and Jaheira confiscated the dagger. "It is necessary. It is important."

"My eyes are both 'necessary' and 'important,' thank you very much," the Kara-Turan informed her stolidly. "If you wish to pluck out your own eyes, then by all means…"

"I was going to!" Arowan retorted, and this was the part that made even Gaal flinch. "I just thought it'd be easier to do yours while I could still see."

"Crazy lady," Yoshimo muttered under his breath. "If this is what a good person is like on numbing potions, then I'd have hated to meet your brother."

"Yes. I expect you would have done," replied Arrow earnestly. "One time they pitted him against this paladin in the Black Pits. Eric cut him open and made his guts do a sort of ribbon dance over his head. He said he'd only end it when the paladin renounced his faith."

Keldorn and Anomen turned as one to stare at her, eyes bulging. For a moment nobody said a word. Arowan blinked in the face of their expectant silence.

"I don't think you would have liked him," she added.

"No," agreed Keldorn, in response to this colossal understatement. "I don't expect I would."

Arowan and the eyeless zealots were not the only strange things in these sewers. On the way they passed a sealed sarcophagus, guarded by defectors from the blind cult. They had formed a makeshift camp around it. A half-eaten rat skewer hung over the remains of a dung fire. They warned the party that Gaal meant to kill them upon their return with their half of the rod, though the adventurers had guessed as much themselves. They also confirmed that they had never heard of anyone called Viconia DeVir.

"I guess the Servant of all Faiths never had anything to do with the cult," Arowan summarized cheerfully. "Good thing we didn't pluck our eyes out after all!"

At first it seemed that the only solution was to forget about the rod and tackle the Unseeing Eye head-on. Yet according to the defectors, uniting the missing half of the rod with the cult's half and turning it on them, was the only way to destroy the Unseeing Eye itself.

Obtaining the missing piece was no mean feat. The tunnels beyond the mysterious sarcophagus were littered with traps. Anomen only made the mistake of rushing headlong into glory once and paid painfully for it. After that he let Yoshimo go ahead. The thief had the unenviable task of disabling all the snares, often having little time to do so before he was set upon by guardian monsters. By the time they reached the keepers of the rod, he had used up half his healing spells on the Kara-Turan, and was forced to concede grudging respect for how well the other man bore the pain.

The paladins were also surprised by Arowan. Though an extremely accurate archer, she had long been hampered by timidity, and a fear of hitting the wrong target. This hesitation had not been entirely unfounded, for she had shot almost all of her former companions at least once. Yet now, devoid of fear and armed with the most powerful bow the craftsmen of Baldur's Gate could produce, she was a ruthless killing machine.

Yoshimo had to force himself to focus on the task at hand. This was hard when faced with the risk of blowing himself up by mishandling a trap, and the threat of approaching monsters. There was also the rhythmic, threatening whistle of Arowan's arrows hurtling with deadly speed past him as he worked. Some of her shots flew so close to his face that they blew his hair as they passed.

The deeper they descended, the more peculiar the architecture grew. These underground statues and buildings, ancient and deserted, looked like nothing else in Athkatla. They seemed to be dedicated to some sort of ancient god. There was an armoured golden face like a helm, but the bodies of the idols resembled armoured spiders. A sort of blue marble decorated with gold adorned the outer walls. Yet despite being apparently abandoned, someone had taken the trouble to light torches along the way.

Finally they emerged to see a temple, standing on a platform in the midst of an underground lake. It must have been a beautiful place once, before they built a sewer over it. Now the water was polluted by fouled drippings from above. Strange shadows drifted below the surface. Surrounding the temple were sickly figures, young and old, in sack-cloth robes. Presumably they were the ones who had been lighting the torches.

"Any thoughts?" Jaheira asked the old knight and squire. "Religion is supposed to be your area of expertise."

"I do not get the sense of evil from this place. Not exactly," mused Keldorn. "It feels more… sad. There are markings like suns, but also the symbol of the single eye. There above the door to the temple, do you see? Yet look at how that great lantern sphere to our left resembles the domes of the Morning Lord. I wonder if we look upon an ancient progenitor to our own gods? If so, we must treat this place with reverence, for we tread upon hallowed ground."

"Which means not letting your rodent pee on that statue's toe Minsc!" Jaheira said between gritted teeth.

"When a hamster has to go, a hamster has to go," Minsc replied loudly. "Some things are beyond even the gods' control!"

"They've seen us and they are not attacking," said Arowan, pointing at the temple guardians. "Shall we go and say hello?"

"If you must, but kindly refrain from telling them that their god's eyes look 'creepy'" said Jaheira sternly.

"And leave their eyeballs alone," added Yoshimo. "In fact, I am declaring anything to do with eyes a subject _non grata _for you. Ever since that conversation with Gaal, I get nervous when you look into mine."

The warnings, at least as far as insulting the guardians' god went, proved unnecessary. Their story, it transpired, was a depressing one. They had been assigned to guard the temple and the artefact within until the end of time, and had agreed to the task without really thinking through what it meant. They grew old and were reborn in an endless cycle and had long since forgotten who their god was or why they were there. The god itself was a weak, formless shade, cowering inside the temple. He was at the mercy of an emphatic manifestation of the hate of his own former believers.

"Well, we have the rod now, or half of it anyway," Keldorn grimaced, inspecting their prize carefully before handing it to Yoshimo. "And our instructions. Use it once, destroy the Unseeing Eye, bring it back to the dead god. Simple enough. We can ask those defectors where to find the beast."

"Or we could _not_ bring it back?" suggested Arowan. She had both Irenicus and Ur-Gothoz in mind, who were fuelling in her a certain reluctance to hand back evil-destroying artefacts.

"How much use could a dead god have for it anyway?" Anomen agreed. "There is a great deal of evil to destroy here. The rod should be wielded, not wasted!"

"The god of that temple warned us of dire consequences if we try to use it more than once," Keldorn reprimanded them. "And the gods are powerful even in death. You of all people should appreciate that young lady!"

But when they returned to the room of the sarcophagus, his composure momentarily deserted him.

"By all the gods! What is happening here?" he cried. His paladin senses were so gripped by the powerful evil in the room that he cast protection over the party almost as a reflex.

The blinded defectors from the cult of the Unseeing Eye were dead, their camp trampled flat. Half of the torches had been blown out, and the remainder cast long dancing shadows up the walls. In the centre of the room, the lid of the sarcophagus had been heaved aside by two large men. They too were dead, slumped either side of the lid.

On a raised plinth, a vicious battle was taking place between an angry lich and the necromancer who had disturbed his tomb. In all his long years of fighting the forces of darkness, Keldorn had never come across a death-mage like her. She wore stage makeup, a tart's wardrobe and looked for all the world like a common street walker.

Dangling from her pack were a looted pair of golden skeletal legs. Nothing appeared to be holding the bones together, yet they kicked and danced as she fought. She was not alone. Battling the guardian of Kangaxx's lower half were a vampire and a bearded wizard in red robes. The wizard was contributing little however, except absorbing some of the lich's attacks with his defensive spells. He was sweating profusely and seemed thoroughly out of his depth.

"Edwin?" Jaheira called, incredulously. "Edwin Odesseiron? What are you doing fighting alongside Bodhi?"

"You live, evil wizard?" cried Minsc, whose surprise rapidly gave way to anger. "Not for much longer! RAAAGGGH!"

"No, my friend!" cried Yoshimo. "That vampire is in league with Irenicus. These foes are beyond us, we have to get out of here!"

Minsc was already lunging into the fray and Anomen, not realising the peril he was in, was not far behind. This left Keldorn with little choice but to engage himself. Jaheira was about to join them when she felt her daughter's hands latching onto her arms. Having achieved her goal of freeing the druid from Irenicus' compound against impossible odds, the ranger had no intention of allowing her to be recaptured.

Vines sprang up from the stones, coiling about Arowan's ankles. With a disgruntled roar, Jaheira transformed into a great brown bear and shrugged the ranger off. The Order of the Radiant Heart had only agreed to treat Arowan on Keldorn's say-so. If they came back without the paladin, they would be turfed out without numbing potions and in all likelihood the addict would die.

Tethered by her feet, Arowan had little choice but to begin shooting, though she had to consider her target. At the moment, the disturbed lich was on their side, but doubtless it would turn on them once the tomb raiders were dispatched. If he was giving Bodhi and her allies this much grief, then her own party would not stand a chance against him.

"Yoshimo!" she screamed above the din. "You need to find the other half of the rod!"

"Are you mad?" cried the thief. "What a stupid question, of course you are. No! I am not leaving you here!"

"It's our only chance," Arowan insisted. "Sneak into the cult, steal the rod and bring it back. We can use it to finish the lich, then return it to the dead god."

"What about the Unseeing Eye?"

"It sounds as though it only came here for the second half of the rod. Maybe once the artefact is destroyed the Unseeing Eye will just go away?" Arrow suggested optimistically. "We don't have a choice Yoshimo, get on with it!"

The thief looked frantically from the tethered ranger to the battle taking place a few feet from her. The geas instructions were clear; keep her alive. If she died, he died. Yet Arowan had an undeniable point. If the lich defeated Bodhi and her necromancer, they were no match for it. Sneaking into the cult to collect the other half of the rod was really his only option.

He looked back once as he ran, to see Bodhi hissing at him. Then he left the room, praying that Arowan would survive, and slipped into the shelter of the shadows.

Meanwhile Bubbles and Bodhi had a problem. Arowan was still Irenicus' back-up option in case they failed to bring Eric back. He would be most displeased if she died. Besides which, the courtesan was not _utterly _devoid of conscience. She had not become a necromancer by choice, and while she would rather kill than be killed, she had not sunk to the depths of indiscriminate murder.

"Sorry darlings," she trilled. "I'm dealing with a difficult customer at the moment, I'm going to have to put you on hold."

Once, long ago, Minsc and Arowan had been subjected to the petrifying stare of a basilisk. They had been turned to stone and hovered in a frozen state between life and death, until the Hero of Baldur's Gate had come to their rescue. A similar feeling enveloped them now, along with the rest of the party. They were unable to move or resist as the earth rushed up to meet them, and then they were passing through it. Down deeper and deeper, at an impossible speed, until finally they came to rest. Trapped and motionless, in a state of suspended animation, deep beneath the ground as the battle for Kangaxx's lower half raged on.


	5. Unsung Hero

Yoshimo pressed his back hard into the cold walls of the complex. They were coated in slippery sewer slime which helped him inch his way along, but he hardly dared breathe. The cultists could not see, so to compensate the Unseeing Eye had gifted them other means of perceiving the world. This was evident from how confidently they strode about the place, and did not need to grope to pick things up or find their way. Nevertheless, he was unclear what this extra sense was or how it worked. Which for a man whose survival depended on going undetected, was petrifying.

So far, he was managing it. The faithful were gathered in some sort of mass. Through an open door he could just spy a sphere with vacant eyestalks chanting to a room full of prostrate worshippers. Yoshimo shuddered. He recognized the creature as a beholder, having seen a smaller one before, trapped in a tank in Irenicus' lair.

"_Don't think about those tanks."_

He took a deep breath and pressed on. The rooms of the believers were more like cells, each containing a single thin mattress, a cotton sheet blanket and a small trunk for their belongings. How they could bear the damp and the cold at night he couldn't fathom. Perhaps they curled up together to sleep.

It had been a long time since he'd had that luxury. There had been a girl, back in Kara-Tur, and things had been serious enough that both their families had started dropping heavy hints that they really ought to get married. He had acquiesced, but only half-heartedly. Not long after, when he'd announced his intention to cross the sea in search of his sister, the girl had cried and cursed him and finally ended things.

He had not been too concerned at the time. She was pretty, well-bred, serene and had been raised by her family for service to Ilmater. His parents had been enchanted with her, delighted to have such a good influence on their wayward son. Yoshimo himself was less convinced. His sect of third-generation Ilmatari converts were a tiny sub-population. They struggled to keep afloat in a sea of majority cultures whose roots stretched back for millennia. As such they were prone to being rather insular and self-promoting. A fledgling community fighting to survive.

His job, and hers was to preach, marry and breed more Ilmatari. She had been planning to be ordained because it was expected of her. She was going to marry him because it was expected of her. To Yoshimo it all rang a bit hollow.

"_That life didn't suit Tamoko either," _he thought, fearing that each footstep might betray him to his doom. He had admired his sister, practically hero-worshipped her, for having the balls to reject it. When he set out to find her, he'd had half-formed visions of their adventuring together; the Great Tamoko and Yoshimo, earning fame and fortune together in the exotic land of the Sword Coast.

Instead he'd disembarked to find a country in the grip of misery, war and poverty. A land where the woman who had slain Tamoko for no good reason was revered and called the "Hero of Baldur's Gate." They hadn't even bothered to bury his sister, just looted her headless body and left it to rot. Hatred and grief had overpowered him when he discovered her final resting place. It was there, outside the Temple of Bhaal where Sarevok made his last stand, that Bodhi had happened upon him.

She hadn't forced the geas on him. He had not even that excuse to offer Ilmater. He had willingly volunteered. Arowan had warned him afterward of what he had tangled himself into, but at first all they had asked him to do was sniff around the Shadow Thieves and pick out likely candidates for defection. Dangerous work, and slavery, but he'd resigned himself to it until he could find a way out. Only when he'd seen the inside of Irenicus' dungeon complex, had he come to truly understand what the ranger had meant. The bodies, the clones, those tortured things in the tanks. Only by then it was too late.

Even the death of the Hero had brought him little satisfaction in the end. It was not worth it, nor close to being worth it. His geas had not even contributed to his revenge, because Freya would have died in the same hideous way regardless.

"_Idiot… idiot…"_

Yet the main reason he could take no comfort from it, was that he had learnt of Freya's death and the identity of her replacement in the same breath. Arowan; the harmless ranger he had met on the road to Baldur's Gate. A fellow Ilmatari to whom giving her food away to refugees fleeing Caelar was as automatic as blinking. Who could (and probably should) have handed him to the Flaming Fist when he took part in a failed attack on Freya. Instead she covered for him and let him go. Learning that she was to be dragged into Irenicus' hellish dungeon had made him sick to his stomach.

When it transpired that she was on numbing potions, and felt none of it, it had actually come as something of a relief.

He wished with all his being that he could take his geas back. One day, eventually, Bodhi was going to give him an order that he could not follow. Perhaps she would tell him to hurt a child, or to torture someone, or instruct him to participate in whatever it was they were doing that had made prisoners like Imoen scream so.

"_You know what they were doing. Don't delude yourself. Now's not the time to think about that. Focus on making it through the next ten minutes, and maybe you will."_

Sooner or later though, he would receive an order like that, disobey it, and die. Then the hell Irenicus had promised would be waiting for him.

"Praise be for the gift of true vision! Praise be for the purging of false sight!" Gaal's reedy voice cut through his thoughts.

"Blessed be the Unseeing Eye!" the cultists chanted in unison. "Praise be unto him."

Yoshimo paused. He had come to a large cell that was really three standard ones knocked together. This one had a marginally less uncomfortable bed and a wardrobe of ceremonial robes. They were red and purple and had beholder eyestalks painstakingly picked out in gold embroidery. What was the point of that? It wasn't as if the worshippers could see them.

Nevertheless, this seemed to be Gaal's room. He scooted onto his knees and hastily picked the lock of a trunk by the bed, grateful for something to distract him from his own thoughts. Secured in the stash were the cult's petty cash, ice cream scoops of various sizes, and the rod. Yoshimo spent several minutes inspecting the chest. It seemed incredible that such a treasure was left unguarded and untrapped.

"_There's got to be a catch," _he thought. Yet Arowan was still caught up in Bubbles' and Bodhi's battle with the lich. The geas had not killed him, which meant that she was also still alive, but that may not remain the case for much longer if he did not act quickly. He braced himself and seized the Unseeing Eye's half of the rod.

At once the two halves sprang together like magnets and the device reformed itself. It radiated power, making his whole arm feel as though it was buzzing. There was a creaking noise, and a hidden grate covering the door to Gaal's room began to fall.

"No!" cried Yoshimo. There was no way he could slide beneath those pointed metal gratings in time without being skewered. Impulsively, he seized the chest he had been rooting through and pushed it with all his strength into the doorway. The grate hammered down, crashing onto the chest and sending splinters flying.

Still, it wedged the grate open sufficiently that Yoshimo was able to slide under and escape. He ran, katana drawn, past the blind guards. It was fortunate that they had not noticed him come in, for they were only expecting attack from the other direction.

They felt him brush past them and heard the pounding of his feet, but it did not matter that they followed him. Behind him an alarm was sounding. The whole cult and the Unseeing Eye would be on his tail now.

His feet splashed in sewer water as he ran, without daring to look back, toward the sarcophagus room. On the way he burst through a cloud of choking grey dust, but did not let it slow him down. It was only when he had cleared it by several paces that it dawned on him that the floating cloud was probably Bodhi.

If Bodhi had been dusted it meant that they were losing to the lich and there was not much time. Still, he could not run any faster than he already was.

He reached them in time to see the necromancer being struck in the chest by a black orb of necrotic energy. She flew backward along the length of the platform, against the stone edge of the sarcophagus and slumped, unmoving.

To Yoshimo's relief, there was no sign of Jaheira's party. He did not know that Bubbles had cast imprison on them to get them out of the way and he assumed that they must have escaped the lich. This meant that he did not have to stand and fight. He could flee to the sanctuary of the ancient god's temple and sneak out later when things had calmed down.

He was about to do so, when he hesitated. If Bubbles died here, the chance to bring Eric back died with her. Irenicus would capture Arowan again. This wouldn't break his geas. He didn't _have _to save her but…

There was no time to mull the decision over, with the lich advancing on Bubbles and the Unseeing Eye just seconds away. With a running leap, he vaulted onto the stone plinth where the sarcophagus lay, landing catlike between the lich and his unconscious prey.

He had the rod in his hand and felt it shaking with urgency. Yoshimo sensed that merely holding it out to his enemies would activate it, but he could only use it once. He needed them both here.

"_Hold your nerve!" _he told himself, as the lich raised his shrivelled hands to send him to hell. Yoshimo's dark eyes flickered between him and the door, willing the Unseeing Eye to round it.

Then it came. A vast, fanged gaping mouth in a scaly floating orb of flesh. In the centre of its face sat a milky-white eye, as long as Yoshimo's forearm. Eyestalks hung shrivelled and dead, like a wilted bouquet of flowers, but as it sensed the presence of the rod they glowed blue with power.

"THE GREAT YOSHIMO COMMANDS YOU TO DIE, EVIL ONES!" he cried, lifting the rod.

The world turned blinding white. He kept the artefact raised, though it was emitting such power that he felt it would shake his arm off. Its light radiated pure and clean around him and for a moment he felt at one with the light and so utterly at peace that he wondered if he had died.

Then the light vanished. The rod lay still and cool in his hand. At his feet sprawled the body of the lich and the Unseeing Eye was lying face down in the doorway. It seemed far less threatening in death, no more than a fleshy splat.

Moreover, the power of the rod had healed Bubbles and freed his friends. Yoshimo had not known that they'd been imprisoned in the first place, but as his eyes adjusted to the bright light, he saw the five of them standing where he had left them, brushing themselves off and looking confused.

The lamenting wails of the blind beholder's followers quickly turned to petrified howls as they lost their extra senses. Yoshimo had forgotten about them, but they were now nothing more than sightless, demoralized wounded. Besides they could only approach him by groping their way up the stairs single-file. He could swipe them down one by one with his katana if he really needed to.

"Ha!" Yoshimo panted, catching his breath.

"Where are you going?" Gaal was howling at his fleeing followers. "The Unseeing Eye is gone but all is not lost! Together we can yet bring about his great vision. Get back here you cowards!"

Yet judging by the frantic splashing, his hold over his followers had died with his master. The duped fanatics were fleeing to the surface as fast as their blindness would allow them.

"Did you see that?" Yoshimo cried in disbelief, still holding the rod aloft. He could scarce believe that he was still alive, never mind that he had taken out the lich and the Unseeing Eye single handed.

Jaheira looked back at him blankly. Arowan was training her bow down in the direction of the corridor. Minsc was looking around wildly in search of Edwin, but neither he nor his body were anywhere to be found. He must have abandoned the battle and teleported to safety. Realising that the lich was gone, and not much caring why, Bubbles snatched up her prize of Kangaxx's skeleton and vanished herself.

"See what, my good fellow?" Keldorn called up.

"What is with that ridiculous pose?" Anomen snapped, adding, "Typical thief. Show off."

"What do you think you're doing?" Jaheira berated him. "Stop playing with the god's rod. It's dangerous!"

Arowan was still peering cautiously down the hall in case the cult decided to run in their direction. She took a step back and her foot squelched onto one of the blind eyestalks of the dead beholder. It popped.

"Huh," she said, her bow remaining trained on the cultists. "Interesting." She began stepping from one eyestalk to the next, popping them with her toes. It was peculiarly satisfying.

"Did _nobody _see that?" Yoshimo asked, deflated. "Oh, _come on!_"

He tried to explain what had happened on their way to return the rod to the dying god, but nobody except Arowan seemed to believe him. Anomen suggested that he might have had a dream while they were all knocked out, and the others agreed that this was most likely. The thief went on ahead, though he had already cleared the route of traps. He wore a slightly sulky scowl.

Minsc was not happy either. Unusually for him, the huge Rashemen was trailing behind the others, a downcast expression on his broad face.

"Are you alright?" Keldorn asked bracingly.

"No, Boo and I are not alright," panted the berserker. "Minsc and Boo see it all now! Dynaheir we have failed you again!"

He let out a great and alarming wail, and slammed his meaty fists into the stone floor.

"What do you mean Minsc?" Keldorn demanded. "Calm down and talk sense man!"

"We did not understand why Irenicus targeted our witch," Minsc said heavily, speaking more to Jaheira than anyone else. "We knew it must have been him, because she was slain with the Soultaker Dagger, but even Boo could not fathom his reasons!"

Keldorn patted his arm, with a concerned expression, though he only knew enough about their party's history to vaguely follow his meaning. Then Minsc stood up abruptly, throwing the paladin off of him. "But now our eyes are clear! Edwin must have been behind it after all."

"He is working with them, we saw it with our own eyes," Jaheira agreed tentatively. "We can draw no solid conclusions from this but…"

"We can draw a conclusion that is as solid as Minsc himself!" the berserker roared suddenly, his voice reverberating down the tunnels. "That foul wizard offered them his services in exchange for Dynaheir's murder. He is responsible for the death of our witch!"

"I must admit, that seems the most likely explanation," Jaheira conceded.

"Then we must go after him! Now!" Minsc cried.

"That we cannot do my friend," Yoshimo cautioned. Irenicus' reaction if he and Arowan used their gifted freedom to go hunting his agents did not bear thinking about. He could not tell the Rashemen this, however. "Arowan must stay under the care of the Order. She will not survive far flung adventures."

Jaheira nodded, reluctantly. Dynaheir had been one of her party, and Edwin no friend of hers. Yet for now they were limited by Arowan's dependence on numbing potions, and the healing magics of the Order while they weaned her from them.

"Minsc understands," the huge man said. "But Boo and I owe it to our witch to retrieve the Soultaker dagger and free her spirit from it if we can. Or at least avenge her if we cannot. Boo hates goodbyes, but I fear we must say our farewells. For now, at least."

"Take care then Minsc," Jaheira nodded, handing him his share of the party's gold. "I wish you every success in your endeavour, I truly do. May nature smile upon you, for your soul is pure, if addled."

"Torm's strength to you," Keldorn said. He had taken a liking to the berserker and his well-intentioned simplicity. He held out his hand to shake but to his surprise, Minsc pulled him into an inescapable hug. Anomen sniffed disapprovingly, but the older paladin went with it. "Good heavens, these things don't half get in the way, do they?" he exclaimed, referring to the chest on his armour. "How did this Freya woman even keep her balance?"

Minsc had a surprisingly ready answer to this question.

"Freya's backside was as large as Arowan's!" Minsc informed him. Yoshimo narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously, but there was nothing lewd in it. The innocent warrior was simply stating a fact. "And some of the time she had a tail. It was an excellent counterweight."

"Enough of your preoccupation with butts," Jaheira said sternly. "Hug me you great oaf, and say goodbye."

Jaheira, Yoshimo, an unresponsive Arowan and even Anomen were swept into the tsunami of affection that was Minsc. The huge man lifted all four of them from the ground at once (much to the squire's disgruntlement) before dropping them all and leaving to hunt Edwin with a tear in his eye.

"He did have a point you know," Anomen remarked, dropping behind the others to whisper to Yoshimo. He gestured discretely at Arowan who walked several feet in front of them, scuffing her boots to dislodge the sticky traces of beholder eye. "The poor girl is cursed with the largest backside I have ever seen, except on a horse!"

"A matter of personal taste my friend," remarked Yoshimo, who was still stinging from his unobserved heroism and not in the mood. "Besides hers is not the biggest arse that I have seen today."

This insult went entirely over Anomen's head. He began to retell what they had just achieved in a greatly embellished way, no longer troubling to keep his voice down. The part about the thief taking down both evil creatures single handed was not believable, he explained. Yet he advised Yoshimo that if he left that part out, he could certainly use their victory to impress wenches.

"You know, they say that the Hero of Baldur's Gate was a legendary beauty," said Anomen. Yoshimo's lip curled, but the squire did not notice. "It is a pity she is no longer with us. I daresay every knight in the Order would have wished to pay court to her."

Jaheira and Arowan could not help overhearing this and cracked up as one. The ranger's laughter was somewhat stilted, though it was still the first time that the knights had seen so much as a smile out of either of them.

"Oh, I wish Khalid were here to hear that," Jaheira sighed. That thought wiped the smile from her face. She took the drained rod from Yoshimo and marched ahead to the temple on the lake. Keldorn followed, looking about him with awed reverence.

Yoshimo, who was thoroughly fed up with talking to Anomen, detached himself and drew up alongside Arowan.

"What was so amusing?" the thief asked her in a low voice.

"Nothing…" Arowan sighed with the trace of a smile. "Only for once I rather regret Freya's absence too. Anomen trying his courtly romance routine on her would have been something to witness."

"She had high standards did she?" Yoshimo sniffed. He was forced to concede that Anomen was uncommonly good-looking, but he had seen Freya very briefly and she was better. It fitted with how he wanted to imagine his sister's murderer that she should be a snob.

"She screwed around with Viconia. I'd say she had no standards at all," Arowan replied glibly. Yoshimo raised an eyebrow. His curiosity was mounting to meet the Servant of all Faiths. The ranger's hatred of her even seemed to seep through the effects of the numbing potions. "No, Freya was married to Skie Silvershield, didn't you know that?"

"Duke Silvershield's son," Yoshimo nodded.

"Daughter."

"Ah."

They said nothing more until the rod had been returned and destroyed, and the temple guardians released from their eternal duty. The dead god, it transpired, was Amaunator. The paladins found this interesting, indeed Keldorn's world seemed to have been rocked by the discovery, but it meant little to anyone else.

"We will send our order down here at once to remove all traces of the cult and purge the lich's remains of their power," he was saying excitedly, "And then we will restore this place. It will be a great undertaking. The church of the Morning Lord will lay claim to it naturally, but I hope they will allow the rest of us to be involved in the excavations as well. It'll cause friction with the Talons of course, they'll want to loot the place bare… but the temple of Oghma could provide valuable insights, we must make sure that their archaeologists are not excluded!"

He went on for some time in this vein. Jaheira listened politely but Anomen, (whose interest in the dead god only stretched as far as how this discovery might enhance his own reputation,) grew fidgety. He was not the only one.

"Ugh, I would rather Anomen start advising me about women again than listen to this," a Kara-Turan voice whispered in Arowan's ear. She snorted.

"Anomen does not strike me as… well positioned… to offer such counsel," the ranger said delicately.

"And yet he is determined to try," Yoshimo sighed.

"Do you have someone already back in Kara-Tur?" asked Arowan. "Telling him that might put him off. Or you could make someone up if he gets really irritating."

"Not currently," smiled Yoshimo, "But I have in the past, which I suspect is more than I can say for him. Yourself?"

"No," replied Arowan, a shade ruefully. "Not anymore."

"Not anymore?" Yoshimo echoed, curiously. "It sounds like there is a story there."

The ranger sighed and recanted briefly her relationship with Rasaad, and how it had come to an end when he'd gone off chasing Alorgoth, leaving her to rot in a prison in Baldur's Gate. The thief smiled grimly when she described how the Hero of Baldur's Gate had locked her up for no good reason. Freya had also killed his sister Tamoko, and it pleased him that she and Arowan had not been friends.

"How did you escape?" asked Yoshimo.

"A thief, a mate of mine, came for me," Arowan said. "Coran was his name. I'm still considered a wanted criminal in the city though. I can't go back."

"Perhaps you should have been seeing this Coran instead," Yoshimo grinned. "Thieves are more fun."

"I did, briefly, but it wasn't serious," Arowan said. Yoshimo raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't in love with him, but I don't disagree. Thieves are definitely more fun."

"You would not consider getting back together with Rasaad then?" he asked, not quite sure why he was asking but wanting to know just the same.

"No," Arowan shook her head emphatically. "Those few occasions when the sun came out for us did not make up for months of blanket gloom. Besides, I don't think I ever meant as much to him as he did to me. In the end I couldn't compete with his revenge, or the Moon Maiden."

"The Moon Maiden you say? He was a priest of Selune then?" asked Yoshimo, mildly shocked. In the small group of converts that his family hailed from, an Ilmatari would be shunned for marrying outside of their own sect. Yet he had a growing impression that the followers of the crying god who populated the Sword Coast were more varied in their opinions.

"A monk," replied Arowan. They climbed up a sewer hatch, and into blinding daylight. There was some astonishment from the temple district's worshippers to see so many filth strewn adventurers popping up from the ground like mushrooms. The cross-dressing paladin attracted particular attention.

"You were romantically involved with a _monk_? That is... how to put this… unfortunate," Yoshimo said, blinking in the Athkatlan sun. He wanted to sympathise but he was struggling to keep a straight face.

They caught each other's eye and Yoshimo's lip twitched slightly. Then they both burst out laughing.

With hindsight, the thief realised, Arowan's laughter ought to have been a warning sign. Yet he was too high on adrenaline and too engaged in their conversation to pay proper attention. Normally fear and misery, crying and shaking, were the early warning signs that her numbing potions were wearing off. Happiness was a feeling too, but such a rare one given their circumstances that he was not watching for it.

"Where is he now?" the thief asked at length.

"Probably back in the Calimport monastery," she shrugged.

"You don't keep in touch?" he asked.

"No… I…"

Arowan stopped walking abruptly, and swayed. Then without warning her legs gave out from under her and she had to grasp hold of the bridge for support. People were gasping and pointing, and as the world spun about her, Jaheira and Keldorn came running.

"Where will they go?" asked Arowan suddenly. "Those people, they are still blind! Can't the Order heal them?"

"No child," said Keldorn. "Their eyes cannot be restored. No healing magic can mend a wound so old."

"Nor do they deserve it," added Anomen.

"They were tricked," the ranger said quietly. All the feelings that the numbing potions suppressed were coming flooding back at once and it was overwhelming. "They were foolish… but they were tricked. They wanted to do the right thing, now they've lost their eyes… Forever!"

She started to weep. Keldorn and Anomen exchanged a bewildered glance. Moments before everything had been going swimmingly, and now their ranger was having some sort of mental breakdown in the middle of the street.

"Ah. This is the part where the numbing potions wear off," said Yoshimo, who had experience handling Arowan's addiction. "Brace yourselves gentlemen."

The ranger collapsed in horrified sobs, but Yoshimo was ready and caught her just before she hit the ground.

"No, no, no…" she wailed, burying her face into his chest as her emotions resurfaced like an all-consuming tidal wave. "Their eyes… he killed Dad… the sockets… I let him take Imoen! I didn't even try to stop him… Dad's gone… is there nothing we can do for them? Their eyes! Please?"

"No sweet girl, there's nothing we can do," Yoshimo replied soothingly. He stroked her hair in an attempt to calm her down. The paladins were looking panicked, unsure how to handle this. The eye socket poking incident had been less awkward. "Come on now. Anomen has the next dose, which he will be administering _any time now!"_

"Oh. Right!" stammered Anomen, stopping his gawking and rummaging hastily for the bottle. His fingers fumbled and he spilled a little.

"No!" screamed Arowan. "No, I don't want it! I put my fingers where their eyes were, I made Mum drag his body up all those stairs. Please! Please don't make me, please!"

"What do I do Keldorn?" yelped Anomen, for once deferring to age and wisdom. "Should I make her?"

The older knight bit his lip and nodded and Anomen attempted to hold her still while she kicked and screamed. This was starting to attract far too much notice. Numbing potions, or 'psycho shots' to use their street name, were available on the Athkatlan black market but rare. People were afraid of numbing potion addicts and with excellent reason. If it became public knowledge that the Order were harbouring one, they risked an angry mob turning up at the gates.

"I… don't… want…" Arowan jerked her mouth away from the rim of the bottle that Anomen was trying to force-feed her.

"I know you don't. I know," said Jaheira, stroking her wavy hair. "But you must trust me. The Order are going to help free you from them, but it has to be done in a controlled way. If you just stop, you'll die."

"No…" Arowan moaned. Sweat was pouring from her now and Jaheira's heart began pounding. The girl was dying in front of her just as Eric had, only the process was greatly spread up. White foam was dribbling from her lips.

"I cannot lose you too," Jaheira whispered, holding her daughter's arms tightly. "Please take it. For me."

Arowan screwed her eyes shut, stopped struggling and allowed Anomen to administer the dose. In a few gulps the feelings sped away from her and she found herself lying in Yoshimo's lap, with Anomen prising her jaw open and Jaheira hugging her arms.

A crowd had gathered around them and were muttering darkly. Fortunately, Keldorn was struck by inspiration and he raised his hands to the people for silence.

"This street performance has been brought to you by the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart!" he declared, "To remind you all about the dangers of narcotics which cloud the mind. Remember; tell your sons and daughters to say no to drugs!"

Catching on, the young cleric got up hastily and bowed to the people. The crowd relaxed and there was enthusiastic applause for the handsome young 'actor.' Anomen gestured graciously to the little panorama around Arowan. The people clapped as Arowan got to her feet, clearly fine.

As the onlookers dispersed, the party caught bits and pieces of what they were saying:

"They were really very good you know. Quite convincing!" one knight of Talos was saying to another.

"I dunno. I thought the half-elf was hamming it up a bit, and did you see the part where the squire forgot his cue to give her the numbing potion? The other man had to remind him," replied his unimpressed partner. "Still, at least they're trying I suppose."

Yoshimo took Arowan's hand and gestured widely at the party, in a theatrical way.

"Well, mixed reviews my friends, but I believe our 'performance' conveyed the message we wished it to. Let us return to the Order for a well-earned interlude."

He led Arowan away by the hand, keen to get her out of sight as quickly as possible. The party followed, with Keldorn lingering for a moment to watch them go. When nobody was looking, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and carefully mopped up the drops of numbing potion that Anomen had spilled.

"Hardly older than my own daughter," Keldorn said to himself sadly. "Poor little girl."


	6. Rejiek Hidesman

"The life of a paladin is never easy," Sir Ryan began from under a luxurious handlebar moustache. It was like he had a tiny mink perched on his upper lip. "Many break under its demands and leave to pursue a career more suited to their talents."

Already Yoshimo was mentally switching off. It wasn't exactly that he minded life with the Order. In the time that they had been there, they had been assigned a great many of their most exciting missions without having to bother following Order rules. Some of the tasks had been trivial like retaining an artist's services for the church and carrying out pest-control in the sewers. Most were not. Nevertheless, Sir Ryan seemed incapable of assigning any task, great or small, without prefacing it with a forty-minute introduction.

Their little team had become the go-to-group for anything within the city limits, for Arowan had to be returned to the clerics every night. It was rewarding work and, though he never totally forgot the geas, Yoshimo had seen nothing of his masters since that incident with the lich. In fact his guilt over the geas was starting to ebb away. They had struck a serious blow to the slave trade in Athkatla, rescued innocent children and cleaned out the graveyards which were overrun with undead. He had to be earning _some _points back with Ilmater.

"I am not going to harass people for apostasy," Arowan was telling Sir Ryan, delicately. "The eye gouging cult was one thing, but if one of your paladins wants to run off to become a fishmonger, that's nobody's business but their own."

Anomen sniffed disapprovingly, but Keldorn bade her hear the knight out. Arowan tried to listen though, like most people, she found it difficult to keep eye contact with Sir Ryan as he spoke. Her focus was constantly drawn back to the moustache.

"I quite agree!" exclaimed Sir Ryan. "That sort of thing happens all the time. It is practically encouraged. Better for those who falter to leave so that those who remain maintain purity of purpose and strength. The men of whom I speak, however, have bent rather than broken. Twisted paladinhood to serve their own purposes. We cast them out of course."

Arowan folded her arms and glared suspiciously. Months had passed since their encounter with the Cult of the Unseeing Eye. Winter had given way to spring flowers and summer was now approaching fast. Her dose of potion was down to a mere three drops a day, she could feel again, though her emotions remained a step detached and distant. Mostly what she was feeling now was irritation and boredom.

She did appreciate what the Order had done for her. The months of weaning had been a strain on the clerics tending her as well as herself. Symptoms of withdrawal left her shaking for weeks on end in a state of profound discomfort. Often the other four had been obliged to carry out Sir Ryan's instructions without her. Physically it was like a crippling bout of flu, both shivering and sweating, alongside vomiting and terrible headaches.

Yet it was not only that. With the gradual return of her emotions the death of her father had finally hit home, hard. Jaheira, who had just been starting to mend herself, found the wounds in her heart ripped open afresh as she cradled her screaming daughter.

There were other things too. Things that Arowan could confide only in Yoshimo, for only they knew that Irenicus had set them free and why. Her guilt about those she'd left to Irenicus' mercy gnawed at her deeper by the day.

"The thought chafes at my conscience too, but Irenicus left us no option," Yoshimo sighed. "If you could go back what would you do instead? Even without my geas and your numbing potions? Name one single thing either of us might have done that would have made the slightest difference to Imoen?"

"Maybe not to Imoen," Arowan said. She was staring at an accusing statue of Torm, with tears slipping silently down her face. "But the dryads… we could have saved them. We both know Irenicus had no intention of stopping us. We could have freed them instead of leaving them trapped in there forever with that monster! If I'd just taken an hour to fetch their acorns like they'd asked me to…"

"You mean these acorns?" Yoshimo had grinned, pulling a palmful of little golden nuts from his gem pouch.

"You got them?" Arowan squeaked.

"He never _specifically_ told me not to," the thief replied cheekily, handing them to the ranger. "I swiped them from his duergar captain while I was waiting for you lot. Fleet of foot and all that."

She laughed, and in a sudden burst of happiness and relief threw her arms about him. Yoshimo hugged her back, loosely. Apparently, according to Jaheira, the woman was normally something of a stoic. Yet having only really known her as an addict he had a hard time picturing it. The effect of weaning her off the numbing potions made her prone to erratic behaviour. Random bouts of crying, laughter and affection were part and parcel of adventuring with the unpredictable addict.

That had been weeks ago. They'd had no opportunity to plant the acorns yet. It wasn't like they could just put them anywhere. Pop them in the ground close to the city and the nymphs would eventually be spotted and enslaved by someone else. She ran her thumb over the acorns in her pocket as Sir Ryan drawled on. Perhaps she was not irredeemable after all. Yet despite the months of effort that the paladins had put into her, she was not about to abandon her god for theirs. Ilmater, surely, would not approve of attacking people simply for deserting the Order unless they had done something truly terrible to deserve it. Anomen disagreed.

"Such manner of base scum should be put to death in my opinion. To be a fully sworn knight and abandon your oath is inconceivable!" The squire pontificated in this vein for some time until even Sir Ryan looked ready to give him a good thump. Arowan could see Yoshimo trying to catch her eye, and looked determinedly away. Though her lip twitched.

"Seek out the Fallen Paladins as they call themselves, and ally with them. We believe their leader, a former friend of mine, has been involved in smuggling slaves into Athkatla."

"You believe?" Arowan echoed warily, "Or you know?"

There was a time when this accusation would have made her mind up for her. Yet she had learnt that 'involved' in a city like Athkatla could mean a lot of different things. The cooks in the Copper Coronet, the laundry boy who changed the bedding and the welders who assembled those cages without asking questions were all 'involved.' The slaving network in this city was so pervasive that almost everybody was involved to some degree.

"You will find them skulking about the bridge district," Sir Ryan said. "Investigate their activities by all means, but you are wasting your time. I used to hope men like these could be redeemed but in the end they will always disappoint you."

Sir Ryan dismissed them with a wave of his hand. There was a busy schedule of standing around and looking important on his agenda today. No time to argue with a young girl. Good thing Sir Keldorn was going with them. Otherwise the hippy dippy ranger and her druid mother would probably have the fallen paladins sat in a mystic circle smoking questionable pipes and singing about peace and free love. He shuddered.

"Fallen or not these men are former comrades of mine," Keldorn said. "I pity where their life's path has led them. This will be no pleasant task."

* * *

* * *

The bridge district of Athkatla made its slums look cosy and picturesque by comparison. Though some of the buildings were large, they were also dishevelled and the whole area reeked of fish. Courtesans patrolled up and down the length of it, occasionally partnering up with shifty looking men from all walks of life. Merchants flogging weapons not quite sharp enough and fruit not quite fresh enough for Waukeen's promenade were offloading their substandard goods.

Jaheira's party had not taken two paces onto the wretched structure before they were warned by a local lieutenant that some lunatic had been skinning people at night.

"We should investigate that as well while we are here," Keldorn said grimly.

"The only person we know of who skins other people is Irenicus," Arowan pointed out. "I suggest we _don't_ investigate. What could we do if we catch him?"

"I very much doubt that he is involved," Jaheira said thoughtfully. "The lieutenant said that the victims were all beggars and prostitutes. Hardly the sorts of people that Irenicus would think of as being worth his personal attention."

"If you were in your normal frame of mind Arowan," Yoshimo pointed out, "I believe that you would try to put a stop to this."

"If I were in my normal frame of mind," Arowan countered coldly, "I would not have agreed to go and harass strangers, when the only crime that has been proven against them is that they no longer want to be paladins."

Yoshimo sensed danger brewing, calculated her last dose of numbing potion backward in his head, and carefully stepped away from her. Their cleric was not so wise.

"They have abandoned their honour!" spluttered Anomen.

"I don't believe in honour," Arowan snapped. Anomen recoiled and swiftly countered. The ranger held her ground. She knew that she was playing devil's advocate, and had partly taken her stance simply to wind the squire up. Nevertheless she got the fight she'd been angling for. Soon the two of them were fiercely debating whether it was better to blindly follow the dictates of honour or to assess each moral dilemma on its own merit.

Suddenly Keldorn shushed both of them. They had found the men Sir Ryan had sent them to look for. At first glance they were no different from any normal paladin with their shining armour and well-groomed locks. Yet they wore none of the symbols of their former establishment. The Order of the Radiant Heart had taken those upon their expulsion. They were addressing a surly looking gang of men and a fight seemed on the verge of breaking out.

"We shall not allow you to continue your activities here!" the knight declared, as boldly and self-righteously as any serving paladin. "Take your men and begone, your slaving will be tolerated here no longer!"

"Hah," the slaver sneered. "Still trying to be a paladin Reynald? I hear you lost your paladinhood to some moxie that seduced and used you like a patsy. What was her name? Celestine wasn't it?"

"Really?" Arowan sniped at Keldorn. "That's all this is about? He had an affair with someone and now according to the Order he can't do any good with his life?"

"I believe there was a bit more to it than that," Keldorn said testily, "But Amn is not Baldur's Gate young lady. _Our _aristocracy have some standards. Celestine was a nobleman's wife and Reynald should count his blessings that he was merely expelled and not hanged from the end of a rope!"

"I'll have no part in this," the ranger said. "If you'll excuse me, I believe I will go and investigate these skinning's after all."

"You must excuse her. The effects of withdrawal, yes?" Yoshimo said hastily, as both paladin and squire looked livid. "Carry on here, I will watch her."

Yoshimo had to hurry after her, for the ranger had a powerful stride and could cover a lot of ground quickly when she felt like it. By the time he reached her, he needed to retie his hair, for long black strands had worked their way loose and were falling about his face.

"I do not believe the Order were offering you a choice Arowan," Yoshimo said sternly. "You still need them, which means doing what they say!"

"Don't patronize me! _I _have a choice," she snarled, snatching her arm away. "I never signed away my ability to follow my conscience. Unlike certain others I could mention."

The Kara-Turan's eyes blazed and anger flared up in his heart. What Arowan had said was entirely true, and that did not make it less hurtful. They moved on in silence, and she was aware that she had stung him rather harder than she had intended.

* * *

* * *

The pair of them wandered the bridge for some time, but nobody would talk to Arowan about the murders. Either the beggars demanded gold coins for what turned out to be useless information or the courtesans tried to persuade Yoshimo to partake of their wares.

"An intriguing offer, perhaps another time," the thief politely declined his fifth proposition of the day. He returned to Arowan's side looking both amused and slightly shell-shocked. "I have had more offers of sex in this one morning than in the whole of the rest of my life," he said, truthfully. "Perhaps we should have brought Anomen on this little jaunt."

"I don't think he'd stoop to abusing people," Arowan sighed, looking around her.

"No," mused Yoshimo. "At least, probably not. Ilmater take pity! Could you imagine doing this for a living _and _having to worry about being skinned alive as well? Why won't they talk to us? You'd think they would welcome the help."

"Low charisma," Arowan admitted with a small smile. "It's a curse but what can you do? If Freya were doing this quest they'd have told her everything they know, polished her boots while they were talking and then offered her free services. Whereas… people don't like me much."

"I like you," he said bracingly.

Arowan smiled glibly and shook her head. She enjoyed his company too, if truth be told, and sometimes caught herself wishing that they had met under better circumstances. He was an attractive man, with his long dark hair, lightly muscular build and (in spite of everything) sunny disposition. Were she not numbed, in mourning and still burned from Rasaad, she might have thought herself in danger of developing a bit of a crush.

"Charisma is all about first impressions," Arowan said. "I noticed with Freya that it starts to wear off after a while. The better you know someone the less it matters."

"I liked you from the first moment I met you!" Yoshimo laughed.

"Is that so? If I recall correctly, the first moment you met me you mistook me for a werewolf and bade me flee from 'The Great Yoshimo,'" Arowan recalled, with the ghost of a grin.

"Second moment then," he corrected seamlessly.

"Yes, it's coming back to me now," she went on slyly. "You did a sort of somersault thing. Very fancy. Very intimidating. Pity you tripped over your own feet when you landed."

"Yes well…" Yoshimo turned slightly red at the recollection. He was struggling to think of a face saving answer when they came across a not-wholly welcome distraction. "Wait, is that Bubbles?"

A small crowd of onlookers were gathered around the necromancer, who was pinching the bridge of her nose. She had taken her pet zombies for a walk, and now they were squaring up to each other in the street. Arowan could not remember which was Shank and which was Carbos, but both had knives drawn. The enchantment which animated them seemed to have become stuck in some sort of glitch. The courtesans and their patrons were watching gleefully. A few were placing bets.

"You shall never have her, you ridiculous fool," the human zombie was saying. Arowan whispered her question to Yoshimo, who told her that this one was Carbos.

"No… it is you who shall never have her! She loves me!" whined the former half-elf, Shank.

"No! She loves me. ME!" Carbos insisted.

"Boys, boys," Bubbles sighed. "Don't fight over me. Please."

"Fight over her? What an excellent idea!" Carbos exclaimed. "Let us fight over our beloved Bubbles!"

"Yes, that sounds most wonderful. Shall we start now?" Shank cried.

"I hate you Eric," Bubbles groaned, just in case her dead boyfriend could hear her in the afterlife. The necromancer had programmed them to periodically pull stunts like this. Notionally it was to make them more realistic, but in reality she suspected that he was mocking her from beyond the grave. "Fine well, go ahead then. If that's what you boys have to do."

The slow, cumbersome zombies poked each other ineffectively with the daggers for a while. Each managed to pierce the other several times without a drop of blood falling. It was like stabbing cured hams. Strangely, nobody seemed surprised by this. Finally Shank gave up and slugged Carbos in the arm. It spun off into the gutter and the other zombie lurched away to retrieve it, while the watching crowd laughed.

"Most excellent, I have defeated the loathsome Carbos!" Shank announced, to a round of good-natured heckling from the spectators. "Come my beloved Bubbles, let us go!"

"You splattered arm-gunk on my robes you ignorant dolt! Get out of here!" snapped Bubbles, storming past the small gathering in the direction that Arowan and Yoshimo happened to be standing.

"Bubbles! But… but Bubbles! I love you, my chicken pot pie. Come back!"

"Should we run away?" Yoshimo asked uncertainly. Irenicus almost seemed to take pride in being menacing and mysterious. Bodhi was, by virtue of vampirism, a creature of the night and unwelcome in public. Bubbles, on the other hand, was simply an ordinary woman going about her business when Eric's geas was not forcing her to dance with the dead.

"What's the point? She could squash us like slugs any time she feels like it," Arowan said. "I'm going to ask her about the skinner."

Bubbles was surprisingly amenable to helping them. The bridge district of Athkatla had been her home, before she had been swept up by slavers and sold to Baeloth. After Eric freed her, it seemed natural to come back. They got the impression that she was rather attached to the place, and she did not like the idea of a skinner targeting 'her girls.' If anything she was surprised that nobody had come to her about it sooner, for her newly acquired powers were an open secret.

With her help, discovering the murderer's identity did not take long. There had been traces of leather and tannins left near the crime scenes. The other courtesans followed Bubbles around like awed ducklings. By the time she found her star witness, one Rose Bouquet, she had assembled quite a court of admiring women.

"We were going to ask to borrow Shank and Carbos to protect us for our next shift," said one of the girls, hoisting up her cleavage and winking at Yoshimo. "We'd pay 'em like. Although I reckon Rose here would take Carbos for free."

"Carbos is indisposed at present," said Bubbles, pulling out a compact and adding another layer of powder to her face. Yoshimo wondered if she ever washed the makeup off, or whether she allowed it to dry, then slithered out of it like a snake shedding its skin.

"Oh no! Is he alright?" wailed Rose Bouquet. The other girls giggled.

"How many times do I have to tell you ladies?" Bubbles said sternly. "Shank and Carbos are dead!"

* * *

* * *

Arowan and Yoshimo stood outside of the tannery looking up at the sign. The first thing that struck them as strange about it was the smell. Or rather the _lack _of it. Working tanneries always smelled horrendous, from the skins, treatments and carcasses. From the outside this one smelt of nothing at all. Apart from the general fish odour that permeated the entire district.

Yoshimo was about to enter the shop, when Arowan caught his arm.

"I'm sorry," she said. "About earlier. What I said about the geas, it was uncalled for."

"You were picking fights with everybody. I didn't take it personally," the thief said light-heartedly. Though the truth was he _had _taken it personally. He just rationally knew that he shouldn't.

"My father, Khalid…" Arowan began. Then she broke off and shook her head, furious with herself. "Now that my feelings are returning, I am just so _angry _all the time! Ilmater commands us to forgive, but the hatred… it burns through my blood like acid. I think of Irenicus and all I want is to hurt him." She paused again, then admitted, "Imoen too."

She groaned, sitting heavily on the stone steps of the tannery with her head in her hands. Yoshimo's eyes weakened with sympathy. The young ranger was describing exactly how he had felt when he learned how Freya, the Hero of Baldur's Gate, had ruthlessly butchered his sister. He sat down beside her and placed his arm about her. Arowan stiffened, but then leaned into him a little. A tidal wave of misery was welling up inside her, threatening to burst out of her chest.

"Forgive me, I must sound insane," she sighed.

"Not at all. I understand entirely, but such hate is only destructive," he murmured. "It drove me into my…" he fingered his geas-ring. The terms of his bondage forbade him to speak of it in public, even though she already knew. "…current predicament," he finished lamely.

Arowan nodded. She had to let it go. Chasing revenge was impossible. In Irenicus' case she couldn't and in Imoen's she shouldn't. Did she want to spend her life like Rasaad, obsessing over the dead while neglecting the living? It certainly wasn't what Khalid would have wanted for her.

"We should go in," she said. "What does that sign say by the way?"

"Rejiek Hidesman," Yoshimo told her. He had forgotten that she couldn't read properly. He meant to ask her about it one day, if he could catch her in the right mood. Today was not that day. "Interesting name."

They stepped inside and at first thought that there was nobody there. It was a poor excuse for a shop. There were shelves, coat racks and hanging rails. All of them empty. Peculiarly enough there was no smell in here either, and the pair began to doubt that this place had ever been used as a tannery. That was when they saw a pair of beady eyes glinting out from a chair in the darkest corner. He had a cowhide on his lap that he was beating flakes of flesh from with a wire brush.

"I'm sorry, I am closed at the moment," the tanner greeted them in a reedy voice. "Come back when I have replenished my stock!"

"You will surrender to us!" Yoshimo cried dramatically. He was still smarting about having taken down a lich and the Unseeing Eye single handed, with not a single person to witness it. Arresting an unarmed craftsman was a poor substitute, but at least preventing anybody else from being skinned by this man was a noteworthy achievement. "We know that you are responsible for the recent spate of murders."

"Indeed?" purred Rejiek, brushing the cowhide more aggressively. "Is this puerile speculation or do you have any evidence of this?"

"No evidence exactly," Yoshimo said, realising belatedly that this might prove problematic when they handed him to the guard. "But we know it was you!"

Rejiek let the cowhide slip from his long fingers and latched them around the back of his chair. The tanner moved oddly, as though he were pulling the rest of him along behind. He grinned and Arowan took a step backward. She could see too far up his gums, and there was something strange about his eyes too. The lids sagged slightly so that when he blinked they did not properly close. It was as though his skin were too loose on his body.

"What are you?" she asked slowly, raising her bow.

"Your death fools," he sneered. "What were you thinking? Two little humans coming here all alone without the guards to back you up."

Suddenly he lunged, lightening fast and snatched the bow from Arowan's hands, tossing it into a corner. Yoshimo's katana flashed but where he sliced through Rejiek's skin there was no blood. Instead his flesh parted like a peeling banana, revealing an unconnected body beneath. One of muscle and sinew.

"Look what you've done, you've damaged my suit," Rejiek said softly. "Good thing I'm about to get another one. I've never tried on Kara-Turan before. Now I'm going to offer you a choice. If you'll indulge my curiosity by telling me how you found out I was the murderer with no evidence, I will kill you before I skin you. Otherwise, I'll flay you alive."

Visceral terror overcame Arowan. She had witnessed a live skinning. It was the fate that had befallen the Hero of Baldur's Gate when Irenicus had run out of options for containing her in werewolf form. The picture of the shivering, skinless dog was burned forever into her brain. That moment of realisation that Freya must have had between her skin being removed and Khalid putting her out of her misery, was not an experience Arowan intended to share.

"Bubbles told us!" she squeaked.

It was as if a time freeze spell had fallen over the room. Rejiek stopped advancing on them and for a moment nobody spoke. Then, to their surprise and immense relief, the tanner began backing away toward the stairwell.

"Ah," Rejiek said carefully. "Bubbles knows? Well. That's different."

With that he turned and fled down the stairs. Arowan retrieved her bow and notched a fire arrow, grateful that the Order's clerics had recently deemed her sane enough to handle these again.

"What do we do?" she yammered, wishing that they had not gotten themselves into this without the others. "If we go for help, he'll escape and keep skinning people!"

"I think you have answered your own question my friend," replied Yoshimo, though he did not look keen. "We had best go after him."

They followed carefully though. Arowan shot down the stairs three times before they descended, just to make sure, but they found her fire arrows smouldering harmlessly in the floorboards at the bottom. Halfway down the staircase they passed through a magical shimmer. They froze, expecting a trap, but nothing happened.

That was when they realised that the magical barrier they had passed was not to keep them out, but to keep the stench in. A flayed body was suspended upright by ropes. What it had been in life was unclear and they did not look too carefully, but its skin was being treated with salts and stretched out across several wooden frames. In a corner of the room a half-finished pale leather suit was hanging over a dummy. Two more tanners were hastily trying to collect it.

"Never mind that now, we can always make another of those!" screamed Rejiek, as Arowan shot one of the men in the torso. "Save the coat! The exile will finish us if we lose that!"

Whatever these creatures were, they were not human. Arowan's shot ought to have felled a normal commoner. Her second and third would have been sufficient to deal with a strong adventurer. Yet they barely slowed the tanners down. With Rejiek screeching at them to hurry, they ran into a back room and emerged carrying something that made Arowan gasp.

It was not leather, but fur. Soft, golden and breathtakingly beautiful. It had been treated and fashioned into a coat since they had last seen it as a floor rug in Irenicus' lair, but there was no mistaking it. The werewolf had possessed enhanced charisma that had lent her beauty to rival Ellesime herself. There was not another creature like her in all of Faerun that this golden fur could have come from.

"Is that Freya?" Arowan's voice came out in a high-pitched squeak. "Yoshi…? You know earlier when you asked if we should run away? Well, I've changed my mind. I'm leaning very heavily toward running away!"

"Agreed!" panicked Yoshimo, seizing her arm, and the two of them fled back up the stairs as fast as their legs could carry them.

They sprinted frantically back over the bridge. Though they could see nobody following them when they looked back, they did not slow nor let go of each other until they had found the rest of their party.

Keldorn, Anomen and Jaheira were where they had left them and so, to their relief, were the city guards. Their three companions were handing the fallen paladins to the guards' custody. For what reason, Arowan was past caring.

"Arowan, child, what is the matter?" Jaheira cried.

"The tanner, it was the tanner!" Arowan panted wildly. "He had bodies down there, he was… he was…"

Her head spun suddenly and she lurched to one side. Yoshimo caught her just in time to stop her collapsing and was rewarded by the ranger spewing over his shoes. He kept a hold of her anyway, and not only so that he could pretend that it was her who was the one shaking. Vomit notwithstanding, he had come to find her smell of coffee and fresh earth comforting.

The thief was scarcely less shaken himself, but having endured Irenicus' complex without the aid of numbing potions, he was better prepared for this sort of thing. He managed to pant out what had happened to the guards.

"Rejiek the tanner?" the captain of the guard repeated. Yoshimo nodded, screwing his eyes closed and holding onto Arowan for dear life. He breathed in deeply, trying to erase the smell of the tannery with her scent. There was a hint of honey in those coffee waves. He steered them away from where she had been ill, for he was not far behind her and standing in a pool of sick was not helping.

"We had better aid them," Jaheira said to Keldorn, who nodded grimly. "You three stay here!"

"What?" protested Anomen. "We three? I understand that these civilians cannot cope with the evil festering in this city, but I am almost an anointed knight! I assure you that_ I_ hardly need shielding…"

"Come then!" snapped Jaheira, impatiently.

Arowan and Yoshimo watched them go. A short time later the captain returned, looking pale, to inform them that Rejiek had escaped but that they had found the missing skins. The guards were removing the bodies now and it had already been agreed that the house itself should be burned.

Their party returned too, a moment later. Jaheira was cursing this affront to nature with all her passion, which to anyone who knew the druid was proof of how upset she was. Even Keldorn, who had seen more of evil than any of them, looked shell-shocked and queasy. Anomen was trailing a few feet behind them. His mace was held limply in his hand and he seemed about to cry.

"How are you feeling almost-anointed one?" Yoshimo asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Anomen stared at the thief bleakly. Then he, like Arowan, doubled over and heaved. Yoshimo sighed.

"Let us hope that there is an alternative source of leather in this city," remarked Arowan shakily. "I fear you are going to require new shoes."


	7. Viconia DeVir

Yoshimo handed over a fistful of coins to the assistant at the Adventurer's Mart. He always savoured the metallic tinkling of money. They were answered by the clatter of an armful of enchanted arrows. There were a few acid and ice in the mix, but Arowan favoured fire. She got through an insane number of them, and there was no possibility of retrieving any. The heads smouldered away on impact.

Anomen was looking at armour. The two of them had come without the ranger as they always did, for she detested crowds and usually found some excuse to avoid the market. Their would-be-knight was mulling over an upgrade. Months of questing for the Order had proven quite lucrative and, for the first time in his adult life, the squire was not penniless.

"Copper for your thoughts?" Yoshimo asked good humouredly, carrying his bundles of sticks. "I think I should start collecting Arowan's used arrows. There are enough here to keep a family's cooking fire burning for days!"

Anomen huffed. He wondered why the thief felt the need to ask him a question, then go off on a conversational tangent without waiting for the answer. It was something the other man did a lot, and it got on his nerves.

"I was deciding whether to purchase this plain suit now, or save up for a few more weeks so I can buy the one with the silver detail," he said. Yoshimo inspected the two pieces of armour. They were both fine suits, though neither would provide half the protection of Freya's dragonhide.

"What is the appeal of the more expensive one?" asked Yoshimo, "It seems that both would provide the same level of protection."

"True, but this one is more… well it has…" Anomen floundered.

"It looks better," Yoshimo observed. He raised a dark eyebrow. "This would not have anything to do with the young lady in our group would it?"

He disliked that notion. There wasn't really anything wrong with Anomen that he could pinpoint, aside from his being a little obnoxious and pompous. Indeed, Yoshimo was of the opinion that finding a girlfriend would do the uptight cleric the world of good. Just not Arowan. Besides, hadn't he said that he found her unattractive?

"Well, yes, actually. I think she must be flattered by my attention," Anomen replied a little stiffly. Yoshimo's jaw clenched. Apparently he imagined that Arowan should be grateful that he was even looking at her. "Though I would hardly describe her as 'young.'"

"She must be in her early twenties," Yoshimo frowned, puzzled by this remark. Arowan had no way to know her own age precisely, for she did not know how old she had been when Gorion first brought her to Candlekeep. The thief suspected that she had a few years on Anomen, based on maturity, but she was hardly an old lady.

"No, not at all!" exclaimed Anomen, hanging up his armour. "Early twenties? Impossible. Think about it, she was married for almost a decade! It is difficult to tell with half-elves my friend, I can see how you might make the mistake, but by my calculation she must be at least thirty. Maybe closer to fifty."

The thief blinked. Anomen was talking about Jaheira! Immediately he buried his head into a cabinet of magical amulets in an attempt to hide his mirth. He wished that Arowan had been here to share the joke. Desperately he tried to keep his face out of the other man's line of sight while he battled with his smile. To the point where his nose was practically buried into the corner of the dusty cabinet. But worse was coming.

"Some men might see the age gap as a deal breaker," the would-be-knight was saying thoughtfully, "But I am willing to give a mature, experienced woman a chance."

"How generous," wheezed Yoshimo, certain that suppressing this much laughter was about to crack his ribs. He was not so mean as to tell Arowan what Anomen had said, but the boy was indiscrete and she was perceptive. She would figure it out for herself soon and the thief could hardly wait to see her face when she did. "Shall we head back then?"

"Not just yet," Anomen replied. "I'm still making up my mind about the armour, and in any case, I wish to avoid Sir Keldorn."

"Why is that?"

"It's that blasted 'street performance' we had to do to cover for Arowan!" sighed the squire rolling his eyes. "It started off as a ruse but now he has gotten really into it. He wants to do more of them! Keeps banging on about '_Energising the Youth Wing_' of the Order and trying to rope me into helping him!"

"That doesn't sound so bad?" Yoshimo replied, peaceably.

"Doesn't it? By Helm!" groaned Anomen. "You don't know Sir Keldorn when he gets enthused about things. And when he's not harping on about that, it's the excavations of that ancient temple we found in the beholder cult. I get an update on that every day without fail. They found a fragment of pottery yesterday. Did he mention it to you?"

"No," confessed Yoshimo, feigning a sneeze to conceal his amusement over Jaheira, and straightening up.

"Well if you ever find yourself suffering from insomnia, ask him about it!" Anomen snapped. "It was terracotta; three inches by five inches. They think it may have come from a wine vessel, bed pan or possibly a cooking pot. What a world-shattering revelation! Our ancestors needed to eat, drink and piss!"

Yoshimo laughed, with him not at him this time. The squire had an aura of the ridiculous about him, but he was starting to grow on him just the same.

* * *

* * *

"I understand that Gorion was very much like a father to you," Anomen enquired of Arowan over supper. "What was your relationship with him like?"

Arowan lowered the ice arrow that she was examining and let out a humourless laugh. Beside her, Jaheira discretely put down her cup and walked away. Gorion had been a great friend to her and Khalid. The ranger's attitude toward him, though she understood it, caused her some pain. It was a subject that the two women avoided discussing in each other's presence.

"You were misinformed," she said. "Gorion's attention was split between a great many foster children. He and I were never close. Sometimes weeks went by when we barely spoke two words to each other."

"You had many siblings growing up?" Anomen asked. He was mildly disappointed that Jaheira was leaving, but interested just the same.

"Gorion 'adopted' twelve of us, if you can call it that," she replied.

Keldorn remarked that it must have made the library they grew up in quite rowdy. His two girls were trouble enough. He ripped off a piece of bread with his teeth as large as Arowan's hand and washed it down with copious ale. The paladin had got into the habit of eating huge dinners in his younger days, when constant travelling and fighting meant that he burned a second person's worth of calories. These days, though by no means sedentary, his lifestyle was less intense but the meals had not shrunk. They were beginning to sit heavily around his jowls and middle.

Yoshimo was watching Arowan carefully as she spoke. There was something off about her relationship with Gorion, he had gathered that much, and he was confused about how Freya fitted in. Apparently they had grown up together and yet she did not seem to regard the deceased hero as anything approaching family. Every time he had subtly attempted to bring it up, she shut the conversation down. Anomen, however, did not do subtle and he waded into Arowan's personal life like a bowling ball.

"The Harpers saved us from being sacrificed by the Cult of Bhaal," Arowan said eventually, feeling that the fastest way to escape this conversation was to answer him. "Gorion was one of them, but he took us to Candlekeep without the other Harpers' knowledge or permission. As far as they knew he only had one. He cast spells on us that made everyone believe that we were all the same person. Including us."

"How did that work if…" Yoshimo began.

"Sometimes it didn't. It caused a lot of confusion," Arowan said. "He did it in order to revive his daughter, Imoen. She'd died and the clerics could not resurrect her. So Gorion decided it would be a good idea to shave a little piece from each of our souls to make her a new one. Kind of like if I took a forkful of food off each of your plates to make a new meal."

"He shaved your _soul?_" Yoshimo looked concerned. "How did you get it back?"

"I didn't," Arowan shrugged. "Imoen is still carrying around a piece of my soul, and Freya's and Eric's and nine other people's. Irenicus can't take our souls while a piece of them is tied up in Imoen. She acts as a sort of anchor. Hence his determination to shatter her soul to pieces."

She sighed and swirled the ale around her mug, watching the amber liquid catch the light. The Order were serving a light supper today, though their notion of 'light' was somewhat at odds with the rest of humanity's. Cold chicken, ham and pork pies formed the basis of the meal and Arowan had used the term 'plates' loosely. The meat had actually been served on thick slabs of bread. Then on sharing platters were stacked fruits, cheese and copious butter. The weight that she had lost under the influence of numbing potions was returning with interest.

"Anyway," she said heavily. "Gorion and I did not get on, and I do not regard him as a father figure. Khalid was the only real father I have ever had."

"At least you had that," sighed Anomen. "I admit, I am rather jealous of you. My own father, Lord Cor, is nothing like your Khalid and he and I did not have a good relationship. If he was not deep into his cups, he was demanding that I uphold the family honour, or reminding me of what a worthless son I had become. I endured his abuse until I was old enough to squire for the Order. I fled as quickly as I was able to."

Arowan could think of nothing to say in response to this, save to make a sympathetic noise in the back of her throat. Yoshimo expressed his own condolences. He got on reasonably well with his parents, bar their occasional optimistic attempts to persuade him to get a sensible job, find a nice Ilmatari girl and get married. They never pushed too hard though. He had plenty of siblings to provide them with grandchildren.

"I suppose I am telling you this because you remind me a great deal of my late sister, Moira," Anomen said, earnestly.

"Late sister?" Arowan echoed. "I am very sorry to hear that."

"Not as sorry as her killer was," replied Anomen, and a shadow fell over his eyes. Across the table from the young squire, Sir Keldorn chewed his lip, but he said nothing. "Suffice it to say she was avenged."

Jaheira returned, gauging that enough time must have passed for the subject to have moved on from Gorion. They finished their supper in silence. Arowan took the extra arrows that Yoshimo had brought her to the armoury and the elders went with her.

"I tried to dissuade Anomen from that course of action," Keldorn told her. "I fear it may put at risk everything that he has striven towards for so long."

"How so?" Arowan asked.

"There is a test before he can be knighted," the old paladin replied. "His deeds are laid bare before Torm and he is judged fit or unfit. Anomen has done a great many noble services for the Order, especially since meeting you two, but I fear the revenge he sought on the merchant man accused of murdering his sister may harm his chances."

"Is there any way we can help?" Arowan frowned. Unappealing though she found Anomen's attitude at times, she did not wish anything truly awful on him and it was clear that losing his knighthood would be devastating.

"By requesting him as your cleric and bringing him on your missions for the Order, you have inadvertently done as much as anyone could," Keldorn replied with a fond smile. "Before I would have put his odds of passing the test at nil. Now having destroyed the Cult of the Unseeing Eye, stopped the rogue paladins, purged the graveyard of undead and the sewers of monsters… not to mention crippling the city's slave trade… he may stand a chance."

* * *

* * *

"You see what I did there?" Anomen was telling Yoshimo, proudly. "That is a humane way of letting the young lady know that she does not stand a chance. Telling her that she reminds me of my sister was a compliment, and at the same time lets her know in the gentlest possible way that I have no romantic interest in her."

"It is hot in here," the thief snapped in response. "I think I will step outside."

"Excellent notion!" Anomen agreed heartily. "The Order is stuffed with elderly paladins. They always insist on keeping every fire roaring constantly, even in this weather."

He followed Yoshimo outside into the mild evening air. The sun had slipped below the horizon some time ago and a blanket of stars hung over the city. Back in Kara-Tur he had spent many idle evenings sitting on the grass with Tamoko making up new constellations. Most of them had been offensive, for like the majority of preteens he had considered pointless crudeness the highest form of wit. He found the cluster of stars that his sister had named The Horse's Willy and smiled. They were in a slightly different position when viewed from this continent, but still unmistakable. Yoshimo could never un-see it now, and he never wished to.

"I do have a gift when it comes to handling the ladies if I do say so myself," Anomen said, misguidedly. "It is hard to break a young maiden's heart but, since it had to be done, I think this was by far the best way of going about it. 'Reminds me of my sister.' Heh."

The cleric was insufferably pleased with himself for coming up with this. He was even more pleased when a pretty woman in a low cut black dress came out of nowhere and begged for his help to find her lost cat.

"I think we should go back inside," Yoshimo said, urgently.

"Nonsense," laughed Anomen. "You go, by all means. I will assist this fair damsel and join you shortly."

"Very well, my foolhardy friend, then I had best aid you in finding this 'cat,'" the thief replied.

"I assure you that there is no need," Anomen said pointedly, eyeing up the smiling woman in her lace dress.

Nothing that Yoshimo could say would dissuade Anomen from following her into an alley. The thief was starting to think that this young man might be too meat-headed even for paladinhood. Yet the geas bound him from telling him anything about Bodhi and her guild. He was just about to run for Arowan in the hope that she could think of a solution, but he turned to find his way barred by the brood mother herself.

"Yoshimo," Bodhi purred, running her cold undead fingers seductively over his cheek. He shuddered. "I was starting to think that you didn't want to see me."

"Perish the thought," sighed Yoshimo. He shot a worried look in the direction that Anomen had just gone.

"Don't fret, we're not here to eat your little friend," Bodhi smiled sweetly. Her short black hair was swept back by the breeze, revealing her ears which were notable by their absence. Yoshimo wondered whether they had fallen victim to an accident or one of her brother's bizarre experiments. "I need you to do something for me."

Dread welled up in his heart, as it always did when the holder of his geas gave him an instruction. If it was something he was unable or unwilling to do, then the order would be a death sentence. He swallowed and nodded, waiting to see where the axe would fall.

"I need you to obtain fifteen thousand gold pieces for me," Bodhi said. "And my 'brother' must not find out about it."

At first relief flooded through him that he had not been asked to kill or maim anybody. That initial feeling was replaced by blind panic.

"Fifteen thousand?" Yoshimo gasped. "How can such a sum be secured?"

"That is your problem," Bodhi replied, sliding her thumb over his lips with one hand and lacing his fingers in her own with the other. "You are a thief are you not? Steal it! I need it by the end of the week."

"The end of the week?" Yoshimo cried. "Mistress, I beg you for more time."

"Let me think about that for a moment," smiled Bodhi, showing off her catlike fangs. "Hmm… No."

There was a flash of blinding light from the alleyway and an unearthly shriek. Yoshimo turned around to look at it and heard Bodhi hissing in irritation behind him. A small, sorry little cloud of grey dust floated out of the alley way, and hovered, trembling before them.

"Distract the cleric, I said! I specifically told you not to try to eat him!" she seethed. "Serves you right you got dusted. Why can't anyone follow simple instructions? Get out of my sight. Go on, shoo!"

The dusted vampire drifted away to regenerate. When Yoshimo turned back, Bodhi had vanished. Seconds later, Anomen came pelting out of the alley. He had lost his helmet and his hair was dishevelled, but the thief was relieved to note that he was free of puncture wounds.

"Did you find the cat?" Yoshimo asked sarcastically.

"Cat? There was no cat!" yelped Anomen. His plate mail had been loosened and the top few buttons of his shirt undone. "That woman was a filthy vampire! It tried to bite me!"

"You had a lucky escape my friend," the thief replied. Then, because he couldn't resist it, he added innocently, "Who would have thought a pussy chasing quest would turn out to be so dangerous?"

* * *

* * *

"Sewer duty again," Arowan sighed, glumly. She had never spent so long confined in a city, not even Baldur's Gate, and she was aching for woods, clean air and uneven ground beneath her feet. Though they had cleared the most notorious sewer entrances, the network under Athkatla was vast and unmapped. Whenever the Order had nothing better for them to do, pest control was their default task.

Perhaps they would not have to go this time. They were standing at the entrance to the sewers while Keldorn and Jaheira debated it. The paladin's argument was simple- that the monsters were evil and dangerous and as a paladin his duty was to exterminate them. The druid, however, made the very good point that while slimes and kobolds were occasionally known to dine on human, the bulk of their diet came from eating rats. If they wiped out too many predators, the party were likely to spark a public health hazard.

"Perhaps sewer duty is all that I am fit for," Yoshimo sighed, in a rare bout of melancholy.

"Why would you say that?" Arowan frowned.

"Did we do the right thing?" he asked, "Running from Rejiek Hidesman?"

"Yes!" Arowan replied with such cast-iron certainty that Yoshimo felt better. "He wasn't the least bit afraid of us until I mentioned Bubbles name! I think the only reason he ran away was because he thought that she was behind us."

"He didn't try to conceal what he had done from us," Yoshimo nodded. "He didn't even call for his lackeys. I still regret running. I feel like a coward."

Arowan rolled her brown eyes heavenward and placed a hand on her hip. With the other she waved her bow under his nose. It was a huge weapon, that looked like it had been designed for blasting through ankheg shells. Far superior to any of her other equipment.

"I shot three fire arrows, direct hits, into one of his flunkeys," she said firmly. "I am an experienced ranger and this bow is the best in Baldur's Gate. It didn't so much as slow him down, and there were more of them on the floor below, I could hear them. If we hadn't run, our skins would be drying on frames right now ready to be stitched into that awful armour he was making."

Yoshimo felt reassured but was still not wholly happy with himself. The 'Hero,' whose fur Rejiek had escaped with, would not have run he was sure of it. He did not relish feeling inferior to the woman who had murdered his sister.

Jaheira and Keldorn seemed to have reached some kind of agreement. She was tracing a crude outline of Athkatla with her stick in the dirt, and between them they were formulating a plan for regular light culls of the sewer creeps. An old man sporting a ragged, unkempt beard, shuffled up to Yoshimo, his crumpled hand outstretched.

"Might I prevail upon you for a single gold piece?" he croaked. At his side was a little grey terrier.

"Yes of course, apologies my friend I did not see you there," Yoshimo replied distractedly, fumbling with his coin purse and placing some gold discretely into the man's palm. Thief and beggar made the sign of Ilmater to each other.

The terrier yapped and jumped up on the thief's leg, wagging its tail. He scratched it behind the ears, and though it left sooty paw prints on his breeches, he did not seem to mind. When he looked up again, Arowan was smiling at him. Her dark eyes were shining, and Yoshimo suddenly felt as though he were not such a terrible person after all.

"Get that thing off me!" Anomen cried. They both looked around to see him backing away from the dog, trying to wipe the paw prints from his shining armour. He glared at the Ilmatari. "Look what you've done, he'll tail us for the rest of the day now! I disapprove of charity. The man should be trained and outfitted that he might provide for himself."

The man, who was not deaf, looked thoroughly humiliated. Though he recovered quickly. He was used to it by now. Looking at Arowan's response, Yoshimo was perfectly satisfied that Anomen was mistaken about her interest. She was looking at the squire as though he were some unpleasant jelly that had dribbled out of the sewer grate.

They set off back for the Order, their sewer trek abandoned, in search of a more ecologically friendly task. Arowan and Anomen walked ahead, hotly debating the subject of beggars. Yoshimo watched her, smiling faintly without even realising he was doing it.

Suddenly he found himself flanked by stern elders; Jaheira on his left and Keldorn on his right.

"We need to talk," Jaheira said, in a tone of voice that would have intimidated a dragon.

"Young Yoshimo, we have both observed that you and Arowan seem on your way to becoming… close friends," Keldorn began stiffly. "As her guardians, we are obligated to raise our concerns."

"You do not wish for Arowan to become 'close friends' with a thief, I take it?" Yoshimo replied, a little frostily.

He was fairly certain that what they were implying went beyond friendship, but since he was not yet sure of the ranger's interest nor even his own, he was not about to acknowledge this. Besides he was under Bodhi's geas. He could die any day. Quite possibly by the end of the week if he could not lay his hands on fifteen thousand gold pieces, more than he had ever owned in his life. Now was not the time to start dating.

"That is not the issue," Keldorn said stiffly. It was clear that he was uncomfortable with this conversation, yet he was determined to say his piece anyway. "I will not insult your intelligence by pretending that I would let my own daughters make friends with a thief, nor would I recommend you to Arowan. However, I would not have intervened on that basis alone."

"What we are saying is that Arowan is extremely vulnerable at present," Jaheira said. "She has recently lost her father and her emotional state is all over the place because of the numbing potions."

"We are of the opinion, and the clerics treating her agree," Keldorn went on, with even more forced formality, "That until she is fully weaned from the potions and has had some time to readjust, she is not fit to consent to any new… friendships."

"Ah," replied Yoshimo. "I… erm… I think you misunderstand the nature of… Arowan and I are not…"

"…and 'not' you must stay," Jaheira finished for him. Keldorn nodded grimly, backing the druid up.

She still did not trust Yoshimo. Everything about their escape from Irenicus' dungeon had been strange. Imoen's cage conveniently damaged and the key to everyone else's dangled conveniently in front of her. All their equipment stuffed in a chest, waiting for them.

Irenicus had let them go intentionally, she was certain of it. She did not know why he would do such a thing, but she guessed, correctly, that Yoshimo did. Yet for some reason Arowan would not hear a word said against him. In fact, her ward became visibly distressed when Jaheira had dropped hints that they might want to consider, very soon, telling the thief to be gone.

"I understand," said Yoshimo, with a swift, embarrassed bow.

He was fortunate at this point to be saved by a distraction. Gathered outside the temple of Beshaba, a crowd were forming about a hastily erected pyre. Bound to it was a woman with dark skin and silver hair. A preacher was gesturing at her and waving his hand as the drow struggled to free herself from the stake she had been tied to.

"Look ye all upon this foul drow that we have bound before ye! A creature of evil and darkness my brethren. A creature of treachery and deceit, bent only on our destruction!"

His fellow priests were jabbing their lit torches into the oil-soaked kindling at her feet, but they seemed to be having difficulty getting the fire to light. Every time the flames got close, a gust of wind would blow the fire out, or a random wave would surge from the ornamental lake below, crash over the walkway and drench it.

"This creature has unwisely come among us, thinking that we would be lax in our vigilance!" crowed the preacher. "Tell me, what is to be done with it?"

"Burn it!"

"Burn her!"

"Burn the drow!"

For the first time in a long time, Arowan caught herself feeling sorry for Viconia. Her hateful attitude had not sprung entirely from nowhere. She had to remind herself not to slip too far into compassion though. They had, after all, rescued and sheltered Viconia when she was fleeing the Flaming Fist. Arowan in particular had tolerated the drow's repeated attempts to seduce the man she was seeing. Yet in the end, the Sharran had repaid her by trying to murder her. The brief flicker of sympathy she had felt faded at the memory.

Still, perhaps now that Rasaad was out of the picture, the two of them could tolerate each other. From Arowan's perspective they had to. It was not enough for her to keep an eye on Anomen and keep him away from Dorn. In the end, only one person had the power to prevent Ur-Gothoz's vision from coming true, and unfortunately that person was Viconia DeVir.

"Foolish rivvil! You cannot kill me!" Viconia wailed desperately, as the torches were blown out yet again. "I am the chosen of _all_ gods, including yours!"

She spoke the words defiantly, but she seemed terrified just the same. The priest condemned her for invoking the name of Beshaba, yet the goddess of misfortune did appear to be on Viconia's side. One of her would be executioners slipped in some of the wave water and broke his arm. Another's hair caught alight when the wind blew his torch in the wrong direction. Arowan muttered '_Servant of all Faiths,' _under her breath and Keldorn looked horrified.

"_That _is the Viconia you spoke of?" he cried. "But it is a drow elf! What is it doing here? One must wonder what plot the dark ones have in store. Well, it appears that justice is about to be laid. May its black and evil heart char into powder."

"You rivvin are mad!" Viconia wailed at him. "I have done nothing to any of you!"

"Well, that's not strictly speaking true now, is it?" a familiar voice rang out of the crowd.

Viconia turned her scarlet eyes to the source. Even in her current dire situation, she bristled and her lip curled with hatred.

"Arowan," she said dryly. "Are you here to aid me or to light my pyre yourself?"

She added something in drow that Arowan was certain was an insult. This was why she found dealing with Viconia so irritating. The woman just couldn't resist it. Here she was, about to be burned alive, and an Ilmatari party had turned up armed to the teeth. Yet still she was incapable of even pretending to be civil.

"Spout your foul speech if you must drow!" cried Beshaba's cleric, "But prepare yourself for your journey to the next world. Beg for forgiveness! Beg for salvation! And hope that the cleansing fire will save ye!"

"Beshaba isn't going to let you burn her," sighed Arowan. "You may as well untie her."

"You cannot be serious?" Keldorn spluttered.

"I have no love for drow, and especially not this one," Jaheira said, her eyes narrowed. "But it seems that she has done nothing to deserve this fate other than simply being a drow. This is not justice."

"If we cannot burn her, we will lock her away in a prison cell and wait for her to die of starvation or disease!" the cleric cackled. "And if the gods still see fit to save her, then she can rot in our vaults for the next century!"

"No! Please!" Viconia begged. "Arowan you cannot let them do this, I am the Servant of all Faiths!"

Arowan groaned heavenward.

"I really can't can I?" she sighed, silently appealing to Ilmater to let her off the hook. She would accept any sign, no matter how vague, of her god giving her permission to walk away. Instead the clouds parted and a single ray of dazzling light fell over the Chosen One. It was hardly subtle. Reluctantly, Arowan pulled out her hunting knife. "Hang in there Viconia, I'll cut you down."


	8. Anomen Went a-Courting

"My lady Jaheira," Anomen began with a courteous bow. The druid raised an eyebrow. A few steps behind the pair of them, Yoshimo's eyes twinkled. It was wrong of him, but ever since his conversation with the squire about her, he could not help secretly looking forward to this promised entertainment.

Arowan was ambling along the docks at the thief's side, enjoying a sandwich and totally oblivious. She did not remain so for long, however, for Anomen's intentions were about to become clear. He produced a red flower with elegant petals and handed it to the object of his amour. Yoshimo took a sideways peek at Arowan. She was choking on her sandwich, but trying to do so quietly. The thief helpfully thumped her on the back, and she straightened up, red faced.

"You see this flower I have picked here?" Anomen asked, gallantly handing it to Jaheira. "It is a rare find…"

"…A crimson rhodelia?" Jaheira cried, outraged.

"Indeed!" Anomen smiled, completely missing her tone. "I should have known that such a wise and knowledgeable druid would recognize it. Its colour has a most fiery temperament, but its aroma is sweet. It is the flower of lovers, yet it is also the flower of warriors."

"It is an endangered species is what it is!" thundered the druid. "I doubt there are fifty of these left this side of the Cloud Peaks, and you slaughtered one!"

"It… it reminds me of you," Anomen blustered, in an attempt to recover the situation. "Beautiful to look upon but with a powerful temper! I mean nature… I mean…"

"Do not presume to speak to me about nature, after you committed this atrocity against her!" Jaheira declared, snatching the unfortunate bloom from his hand and waving it under his nose. The would-be knight backed off like a mouse that had stumbled upon the den of an angry cobra.

Poor Yoshimo had to stuff his fist into his mouth to keep himself from laughing openly. Yet when he chanced a glance at Arowan, his good humour dissipated somewhat. The ranger was clearly not finding it as funny as he'd expected she would. On the contrary, she looked very upset.

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" Arowan seethed. Her fingers were tightening around her bow and her lip was trembling slightly. She looked ready to shoot Anomen where he stood.

"His interest in another woman bothers you?" Yoshimo asked, frostily.

"Bothers me?!" Arowan cried, much too loudly.

Anomen heard and turned his head back, catching sight of the pair of them looking at him and nodded graciously. He gave Arowan a pitying look, though he might have done better to save his sympathy for himself, since Jaheira had not finished with him yet. The ranger scowled and lowered her voice to a livid whisper.

"Dad is hardly cold in his grave and that boy is practising his slimy courting-knight routine on my mother. Of course it bothers me!"

"It has been two seasons past," Yoshimo pointed out fairly. "Jaheira is a stunning and…" he broke off and winced as the druid smacked Anomen about the shins with her quarterstaff. "…passionate woman. You must accept that she will move on eventually. I cannot believe that you would wish her to be unhappy forever?"

Arowan turned to him with an expression that could have melted steel.

"Not you too!" she snapped. "What am I to brace myself for next? Is Sir Keldorn about to make a pass at her as well? '_Lady Jaheira, if you are not doing anything tonight would you care to join me for a romantic evening of polishing my sword and measuring ancient pottery fragments?_' For pity's sake!"

"No, no!" Yoshimo corrected hastily. "I don't… If I was going to hit on anybody… but I haven't, I'm not… Look out!"

"SQUAWK!"

There was a flash of talons and a beating of powerful wings. Arowan screamed and raised her arms to shield herself from this unexpected attack. Something clawed and ferocious tore at her hand, and she felt a weight like a club thump the back of her head. She let go of her lunch and reached for her bow, but when she straightened up the workmen around the docks were laughing at her.

"What just happened?" she gasped. Yoshimo chuckled and pointed. The ranger raised her bow in the direction of his gesture. Then she lowered it again. It was nothing but a hungry seagull, speeding to the high ledge of a nearby building with her sandwich clutched in its scrawny feet. "Oh fine," she snapped, lowering her weapon. "Thanks to Anomen, I think I'd lost my appetite anyway."

"Do not feed the seagulls!" Jaheira berated her imperiously. Arowan rolled her eyes heavenward. "You may think you are helping it, but when wild animals become dependent on people they lose their natural hunting skills."

"I didn't give the sandwich to it and I'd say its hunting skills are just fine," she replied ruefully, eyeing the pilfering gull. "What in the hells? It's picking out the tomatoes! Have you ever seen a bird do that?"

"No. Actually, I haven't." Jaheira narrowed her eyes at the seabird suspiciously. The gull postponed its meal to look back, cocking its slender white head to one side. "I do not think we are looking at a natural bird."

The ranger, who had lore enough of her own when it came to animals, nodded in agreement. "Perhaps the enemy has sent spies to watch us."

"Are you implying," Anomen interrupted with a derisive snort, "That Irenicus, the great wizard you are all so afraid of, sent an enchanted seagull to steal Arowan's lunch?"

"Manners!" Keldorn reminded him brusquely. "But young Anomen does have a point. It seems improbable that this all-powerful wizard's plan involves sandwich poaching."

"Maybe," frowned Jaheira, her eyes still fixed on the bird. Normally a gull would tear big chunks from the sandwich and swallow them whole. This one was snapping its skinny beak repeatedly around the pieces of bread. "But if I didn't know better, I'd swear that bird was trying to chew without teeth."

She was minded to take a closer look at the creature, but when she returned from their daily grind for the Order, the gull had flown.

"Lucky thing," Arowan sighed. "To be able to take wing and be free of this city whenever it likes. It has been half a year. What I wouldn't give to see forests again."

"You will get no argument from me," Jaheira replied wholeheartedly. "I do not think it will be long now. You are over the worst of it and will soon be clean again. Anomen will take his test and join the Order. Keldorn was saying something about wanting to see more of his family. We could set out, just you and me."

"No. We have to keep Viconia with us," Arowan said, though she looked like she was biting down on a raw toad as she said it. "However much I might wish it otherwise, and Anomen too if we possibly can. Only she has the power to save him from his destiny. She's another reason we have to move on. Chosen One or not, I don't think that the paladins are going to tolerate having a drow in their midst for much longer."

There was no disputing this. Keldorn had insisted on making Viconia walk ten paces in front of everybody else, while he took the rear, watching her like a hawk. Anomen was watching her a fair bit too, but in his case it was simple malleable lust. The only thing Keldorn seemed to desire when he looked at Viconia was to run her through with his sword. It was an attitude that Arowan found very relatable, but she couldn't let him do it.

"Something that confuses me about the Servant of all Faiths business," Jaheira said, "The gods don't normally intervene in mortal affairs so directly. If they're prepared to blow out fires and strike at Dorn to save her, why not just smite the evil themselves? Why does Talos not send a thunderbolt to sizzle Anomen? Then Ur-Gothoz's vision can never come true."

"I don't think it is that easy," Arowan said slowly. She had given this subject a lot of thought. "He said it wouldn't matter if I killed Dorn, he'd just send another Blackguard to take his place. I think it is the same with Anomen. Take him out and the great evil will simply find an alternative."

"And you still do not know what this great evil is?" Jaheira asked.

"It has to be Ur-Gothoz himself, or perhaps an even more powerful demon," the ranger replied. "I'm guessing that they want me for the same reason Belhifet wanted a Bhaalspawn at Dragonspear. To use my blood and open a portal to hell. Again, though, I don't think my death would prevent his vision coming true in the long run. Just slow it down. Eventually he'd find himself another Bhaalspawn. Only Viconia can stop it."

"You know who is not essential to any of this?" Jaheira asked, shrewdly. Her daughter grimaced defiantly. "That thief we picked up in Irenicus' dungeon. He's working for him, he must be. I'm almost certain of it!"

"Almost certain isn't the same as certain," Arowan said firmly. "Yoshimo stays."

* * *

* * *

"Arowan, might I have a word?" Anomen asked. "What are you doing out here tonight?"

"The same thing I do every night. Trying to avoid Viconia," Arowan replied dryly.

Viconia was hiding in the room she shared with Jaheira, and Arowan since her release from the infirmary. With a massive influx of paladins descending on the Order, she was afraid that one would maim her without realising who she was. The gods would not permit their Chosen One to _die, _but as the drow pointed out, they'd allowed plenty of other horrible things to happen to her. Would they stand back as a thuggery of drunken, pompous knights neutralized the drow threat by blinding her or chopping off her hands? She wasn't minded to risk it.

The reason for all these extra paladins was that it was the night before Anomen's test. A cohort of four squires were to take it at the same time, and the Order liked to make an event of it. Preparations had got underway for an unusually large banquet even by their standards. Apparently they had two graduations a year, one in summer and the other mid-winter. A great many knights and their entourages had come home for the ceremony and the place was bustling.

Yoshimo's eyes had lit up greedily, which worried Arowan. She had pointed out the potentially suicidal nature of exercising his thieving skills in a building packed with righteously lawful paladins, but she was fairly sure that he didn't plan on listening. Her dislike of crowds and meeting new people had driven her outside onto a bridge overlooking the waterways below. Anomen joined her, leaning out over the water. It was clear and still, save for a solitary duck circling below them in hopes of food.

"Anomen," she replied cautiously.

Despite having a specific problem with reading, the ranger was far from stupid. She had picked up on the fact that he imagined she had feelings for him some time ago, and was wary of a private conversation. It could only end in awkwardness.

She was relieved when it turned out that all he wanted to discuss was the test, and their respective fathers. It was sad to hear him talk about his past. He had all the anger of a neglected, frightened child and he slipped out of being able to control it so often that it petrified him. Anomen was more self-aware than she had credited him for. In that he had any self-awareness at all.

"How do you stand it?" he asked, "If I had the blood of the Lord of Murder pulsing through my veins I'd be writhing around on the floor!"

"I have so little of his essence," Arowan replied. "I'm not half-god, more like one percent god. I have been angry a lot of the time of late, since Khalid died, but I try not to give in to it. Like Yoshimo said, such rage is only destructive."

"You really do remind me of Moira," he sighed. "She too had a decent soul and a benevolent heart. I never truly understood why she insisted on caring for father through his drinking and selfishness. Yet I believe you might have done. I wish you could have met, I think you would have liked each other."

"Perhaps," Arowan said uneasily. She was remembering Keldorn's earlier words. Anomen had slain the man accused of his sister's murder, and that might cost him his knighthood.

She looked up at her window in the Order. The light had gone out, which meant that it should be safe to return to the room. Viconia wasn't so bad, when she was asleep.

"We should turn in," she said, with a small smile. "You need your sleep for tomorrow. Good luck."

"I fear I will need it," Anomen said in a hollow voice. "Knighthood is everything I have strived for, for years and yet suddenly I am quite sure I will fail my test. It is my heart that will betray me. I feel faithless and worthless in my soul, and they will know it."

Arowan opened her mouth to reply, but the squire turned away and strode back to the Order. She stared out at the water for a little longer, not sure which outcome to hope for. Had he been wearing the emblem of the Radiant Heart in Ur-Gothoz's visions? She could not remember, for she hadn't been looking for it. One thing she was sure of was that if Anomen did fail, it would be a blow from which he would not easily recover.


	9. The Golden Pantaloons

The day of Anomen's judgement came, bringing with it a festival atmosphere for those complacent knights who had already passed their tests and those squires who did not yet need to face it. The event was an entire day of feasting and sword fighting followed by a ball in the evening. Arowan thought that it would be much kinder to tell the young hopefuls discretely first thing in the morning, rather than subject them to such a public spectacle. But the Order did not much care what Arowan thought.

"Ilmater have mercy. The leftovers from breakfast alone could have fed the homeless of this city for a week. I almost threw up after lunch, I ate so much, and the 'real feast' is still to come! What is wrong with these people?"

"It is odd. I was taught growing up that Torm and Ilmater were allied deities," Yoshimo reflected, "Yet their followers do seem to look down upon one another. Both sets are supposed to align to the good, and yet they have very different ideas about what that ought to mean."

Arowan nodded. Out of boredom, they were already on their third drink of the evening. Normally she didn't touch anything stronger than a light mead, but when she did indulge, she was not known for handling it well. Last time she had almost provoked a bar fight with the Flaming Fist. On this occasion, however, she was in a silly rather than a confrontational mood.

The pair of them were standing at the side of the ballroom, not quite fitting in. They had done their best. Yoshimo's hair was freshly washed and he'd brushed down his leather armour. She had always had a bit of a thing for long-haired men, and amidst this group of over-groomed shaven fancy knights, he stood out to her as very attractive. She was in a minority in this opinion. The chic and classy of Athkatla passed them by without pausing to talk. A few openly turned up their noses.

Arowan did not feel so comfortable herself. When she'd turned up that morning in her least-muddy leathers, Sir Ryan and Keldorn exchanged horrified glances and assured her that they would find her something suitable. The ranger had not relished the prospect of an entire day spent in the hot, restrictive plate mail that the paladins liked to wear. Yet it had turned out to be even worse than that. They had put her in a dress.

She had not owned dresses since she was a very small girl. Some of her earliest memories were of being reprimanded for spoiling yet another one by climbing the walls of Candlekeep or playing in the dirt. After she had flat-out refused to put on a lacey pink number (too revealing) and a lavender ballgown with a padded bottom (too ridiculous) they had found a plain brown one that she was reluctantly prepared to don.

It was not too awful. A bit like a tunic with a skirt. Yet it came with underwiring that displayed her chest in a way she was not entirely happy with, and her legs were subjected to an unpleasant breeze. They had tied her wavy brown hair into an elegant bun, though strands were slipping out in protest.

"I can't breathe," she whispered to Yoshimo, tugging at her bodice.

The thief could scarcely keep his eyes off of her, which was a problem for two reasons. Firstly he only had one week to get fifteen thousand gold pieces for Bodhi. That meant a lot of stealing, and the black market traders never gave a fair price. Secondly there was the warning that Jaheira and Keldorn had given him. He liked Arowan a lot. He was reasonably confident that she liked him. Yet while she was recovering from the numbing potions and he was under this geas, there was no possibility of acting on it.

The bards had almost finished tuning their instruments and the first few couples were lining up to dance. To Arowan's relief there was no possibility of her being roped into joining in. These were set dances, memorized by young noble children from an early age. Not something you could simply wing. Servants were pushing back the tables and the younger knights had sprung to their feet with their courted partners.

A pretty, middle-aged lady was trying to coax Keldorn to his feet, but the old knight was having none of it. She slumped down beside him, looking disappointed, as a younger clone of herself was asked to stand up by a hopeful young squire. Arowan assumed that they must be Keldorn's wife and eldest daughter.

"This is a grand set up," the ranger sighed.

"It is a grand day," replied Sir Ryan, overhearing and coming to join them. He was rustling his moustache and beaming about the hall in satisfaction. "Nothing makes the heart soar like welcoming the next generation into our ranks and I like to see it done with the ceremony it deserves!"

"I can't imagine all this makes it easier on the knights who fail," Arowan said uneasily, her eyes flickering to Anomen. For once he was passing up an opportunity to go courting, instead sitting in a corner with the other hopefuls, ashen faced.

Sir Ryan shrugged his broad shoulders. His indifference to the ones who failed could not be more apparent. He bowed to them graciously, and moved on to continue mingling, his jovial voice booming about the hall. The musicians struck up a light springy tune and the dance began. Wigged ladies with buttress bottoms were soon being swept about the hall by coiffured knights in spotless armour. It was hard to say which gender had spent longer perfecting their appearances.

"A distasteful exercise in excessive vanity," she remarked, proving that humility can sometimes carry its own sort of snobbery.

It was a prime opportunity for Yoshimo. All eyes were on the dancers. The wealthy pockets of the aristocracy were there for the plucking. Such was their confidence in the Order's guest list that some had even left their bags and purses unattended on the floor. Then his eyes flickered to Arowan.

"Dance with me?"

"Absolutely not, are you mad?" Arowan whispered, looking at the long line of nobles. Their fancy footwork and interlocking arms were too complex for the uninitiated to simply copy. A pair of interlopers would stand out like a sore thumb.

"Not here, obviously," Yoshimo said.

He led her out of a side door into an adjoining corridor. The music was muffled but they could still hear it. Arowan froze. She had no idea how to dance. Neither, apparently, did Yoshimo. There was an awkward shuffling of hands as they tried to figure out what went where, that ended in them both laughing. She looked up shyly at his dark, teasing eyes and they swayed together for a while. The wine coursing through her made her feel warm and fuzzy. He really was a very handsome man.

"What do you two think you're playing at?!"

Fearing Jaheira, Arowan and Yoshimo sprang apart, but it was not the druid. A pasty-faced woman in an apron and bonnet bustled up to them. She was balancing four platters of drinks and snacks. She wrinkled her nose at Yoshimo like he was some chewed up mouse the cat brought in. The thief responded with a friendly bow.

"Whose entourage did you arrive with?" she demanded, cheeks red. They looked at her blankly. "Which. Knight. Are. You. With?" she repeated, slowly and carefully as though talking to imbeciles.

"Er… Sir Keldorn I suppose," Arowan hazarded. "What…?"

"I have enough to do without serving servants!" the woman fumed. "I'm not having staff stand idle while the rest of us are run ragged. Stop fraternizing and get these drinks out to their lordships!"

She dumped her trays into their astonished hands. Yoshimo was just about to correct her, when Arowan jumped in first.

"Yes ma'am, at once ma'am," she said sarcastically. "Lickety spit!"

She attempted a curtsey, and almost fell over. Arowan did not believe in lordships and birth right. She shared the belief with Yoshimo that all men were equal in the sight of Ilmater, and as such had never curtseyed in her life, never mind while tipsy and balancing a platter of wine glasses on one hand and dainty sandwiches on the other.

"What are you doing?" Yoshimo grinned, as the woman bustled away.

"Viconia is stuck upstairs by herself, hiding," Arowan sighed. "I don't think the evil bitch has had a bite to eat all day."

"I'm surprised you want to do this," he said, as they carried the platters upstairs. "I was under the impression that you did not much like Viconia."

Arowan stopped short, and pivoted on the step to come face to face with him. She let out an impatient snort, and another strand of hair slipped free over her face. He wanted to stroke it back, but his hands were full.

"I detest Viconia," she told him flatly, "And I don't want to do this."

She reached the door to the room that the three women shared and tapped it with her foot. A voice from within insisted that the room did not need cleaning. When Arowan said who it was, the instruction to leave was repeated, only this time with some drow curses thrown in.

"I brought you food," she said between gritted teeth. The door opened and they slipped in. The first thing Yoshimo noticed was that the room did, in fact, need cleaning. There were two proper beds and one bedroll on the floor which, judging from the possessions assembled around it, was Arowan's. They placed the trays on a low table and Viconia fingered them suspiciously. "For mercy's sake Viconia! Why would I cut you down from the pyre and piss everyone off, just so I could poison you later?"

"You might relish the pleasure of killing me yourself," the drow replied, picking up a sandwich and holding it to her eye. She rubbed the bread between thumb and forefinger, sniffing it for evidence of contamination with a practised nose. In the process she managed to sprinkle crumbs liberally over Arowan's bedroll.

Arowan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Yoshimo was fairly positive that she was counting to ten in her head.

"You don't want it? Then don't eat it," she snapped, seizing a glass from the tray and necking it. There were three empty ones stood on it now. Yoshimo had sneaked a couple himself on the way up and was starting to feel lightheaded himself.

As soon as she and Yoshimo were outside and the door was shut, she kicked the wall in frustration. Though the last six months prevented her from taking as much exercise as she normally would, her muscle had not wasted away completely and her legs were pretty strong. Her kick split a timber wall panel.

"Erm… oops," she said, biting her lip guiltily. "I came this close to throwing that tray of drinks in her face. I really _hate _being an Ilmatari sometimes!"

"I fear your patience is about to be tested again," Yoshimo whispered gleefully. "Feast your eyes on this!"

Coming up the stairs was the most extraordinary nobleman that they had ever seen. Arowan had witnessed some comically impractical fashions in Baldur's Gate, but this ensemble was in a league of its own. He wore a tunic of purple silk with little tufts of pink velvet poking through slits in the side. His legs were displayed in stockings along the same colour scheme which were attached by garters to puffy pants. Only his shoes were a sensible colour but not, alas, a sensible shape. The toes were so long that he could not fit the shoes on the stairs and had to climb with his feet pointed outward like a penguin.

"You! Yes, you!" he cried. He sprinted up the stairs as fast as the shoes would allow him. In his arms he carried a bundle of gold, which he deposited into Arowan's arms. "I don't want to risk getting food stains on these precious garments, so I have changed. I need them cleaned tout suite, I head back to Baldur's Gate first thing on the morrow!"

"What news from the city?" Arowan asked eagerly. "The rebels, are they…?"

"Still making a nuisance of themselves I'm afraid. There's nobody left with the strength to put them down now, and more rabble have joined them since the Hero went missing," the man sighed, flailing his scrawny arms dramatically. "They think that Duke Silvershield had his daughter-in-law murdered, but he can't be tried since nobody can prove that she is actually dead."

Arowan was about to correct this, but then she changed her mind. In the end, Duke Silvershield had not been responsible for Freya's death, but this was hardly due to lack of trying. If blaming him was encouraging more citizens to join the revolt against the aristocracy, then all to the good as far as she was concerned.

"Jolly good mi'lord," she trilled. "I'll see to these at once Sir, right away!"

"I've a bronze coin in it for you if you can winkle out all the creases," the nobleman smiled generously.

"Yes Sir! Thank you, Sir!" Yoshimo cried. "We will get right on it!"

They ducked back into Viconia's room. The drow raised an eyebrow at their return, but raised both when she saw the extraordinary item that they had brought with them. The thief held the man's laundry to the candlelight so that it sparkled and gleamed in all its glory.

"Praise be Ilmater!" he whispered in awe, as they unfolded the golden garment, "For sparing the life of Yoshimo long enough that I might behold this wonderous folly!"

"Golden pantaloons!" Arowan laughed, stroking the strange material. They were stretchy and woven so tight with gold thread that they seemed to be made of molten metal. "Dear gods, have you ever seen anything like it?"

None of them had. A garment as shiny as a mirror, yet as flexible as a sewer ooze. How such a substance had been created was almost as incomprehensible as why anybody would want to. Even Viconia temporarily forgot to be vile to Arowan as she prodded the pantaloons in fascination.

"I am going to put them on!" Yoshimo declared boldly.

Arowan giggled, picking up another glass from the tray and sitting on the bed next to Viconia. Deciding that she may as well play catch up, the drow finished her drink and reached for another. They both watched appraisingly, as Yoshimo removed his outer garments and pulled on the pantaloons. Watching a man change was something that the Ilmatari would not have done sober, but she was now with great interest.

"This is what, your third male in less than a year?" Viconia smirked. "I underestimated you ranger, you treat your men like disposable napkins. It is almost drow-like."

"If you were saying that to anyone but me," Arowan sneered, "I'd think you were trying to pay a compliment. Oh, they are even shinier when you put them on and stretch out the fabric. Amazing. It's like your butt is made of gold."

Yoshimo had pulled on the golden pantaloons and was now attempting to mimic the nobleman's delicate walk. Viconia was starting to see why the ranger kept this male around. He was nowhere near the size of Rasaad, but he was, unquestionably, entertaining.

"You've acquired yourself a serviceable jester," she observed spitefully. "Wherever did you find such a glorious buffoon?"

This remark gave him pause. He had been making it his mission to make Arowan laugh, but he didn't wish her to see him solely as a clown. Taking care of the numbing potion addict had originally been a way to assuage his guilt over the geas. Yet what started out as charity was rapidly morphing into sincere attachment.

"My turn!" Arowan laughed. The world had definitely taken on a fuzzy sort of sheen and her cheeks flushed. Viconia sighed, and threw back a couple of glasses in quick succession while there was still some left. Downstairs the music had stopped and a droning, pompous voice was just audible. They could not make out the exact words but it seemed that Sir Ryan was giving a speech.

The ranger got the legs of the golden pantaloons on easily. They were after all, quite elastic. Yet there is always a limit to the amount of give in even the stretchiest substances, and the pantaloons met their match in Arowan's bum. She pulled them down, to the side, and waggled her bottom like a duck. Yet the pantaloons clung on and would not be removed.

"I'm stuck!" she whispered, mortified.

All three of them doubled over in alcohol induced laughter. Arowan sat on the bed and tried to squirm out of them. Viconia attempted to dig her fingernails under the waistband to loosen them, while Yoshimo tugged at the ankles, but the golden pantaloons would not budge.

"Ok… ok… on three!" chuckled the thief. "One! Two! Three!"

The whole party tried to force them down at once. This time they did come off, but with a hideous tearing noise. Arowan hastily struggled the rest of the way out, and inspected them to assess the damage. It was bad. A huge, diagonal rift ran straight across the crotch. She held them up to the others, one hand covering her mouth theatrically.

"Oh shit, we ripped them! Now what do we do?"

"Drop them out the window?" Viconia suggested.

"I could probably sneak them into the regular washing," volunteered Yoshimo.

"If we do that, some poor laundry boy is going to get a bollocking," sighed Arowan, "I think we have to come clean."

"Not me!" Viconia hiccupped. "They'll blame the evil drow. Burn her! Slay her, for she is leading the armies of the Underdark to destroy our precious pants!"

They were not so drunk yet as to forget that the cleric made a valid point. So, she stayed in her room nibbling on miniature sandwiches, while Arowan and Yoshimo went to apologise. They found the nobleman (with clothing as bright as his he was not difficult to spot) at the back of the banquet hall. Sir Ryan's speech was still in full swing. He had built up a momentum now and was spewing forth oratory that could rival Baeloth himself.

"…_and as your journey of training draws to a close, so begins a new chapter of pious and lawful service to the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart. As you stand before those who came before, awaiting judgement today, you are all…"_

"Imbeciles! Utter nincompoops!"

"We're really sorry!" Arowan said, frantically trying to hush the nobleman up. Yet a man in pink and purple garters would not be so easily brushed aside.

"Twerps! Do you know nothing about fashion?" he cried. Then he eyed her plain brown dress and his lip curled in distaste, as he realised that he had asked a foolish question. "Do you have any idea what these were worth?"

"Say fifteen thousand gold pieces on the black market and I will cry," Yoshimo muttered under his breath.

"SILENCE AT THE BACK THERE! THIS IS A SOLEMN OCCASION!" Sir Ryan thundered, the hairs on his moustache rising.

"_Praeses, Alia, Fero!_" cried the owner of the pantaloons, raising his arms in incantation.

"Ah crap," groaned Arowan. "That can't be good."

At once the ruined pantaloon sprung from Yoshimo's arms, gleaming and angry. Nobody was watching Sir Ryan anymore, though he and the squires were the only ones who really minded the interruption. His speeches were the part of the ceremony that most guests dreaded. They were notoriously long-winded, and in these stuffy halls after two big meals, staying awake was a test of any knight's endurance.

"Look Daddy, the pantaloons are attacking!" Keldorn's daughter squealed, delightedly.

"Hush Vesper," he said, in a stern, repressive voice, but with a bit of a smile on his face.

Indeed they were. They launched themselves at the two who had destroyed them, bent on revenge. Hovering in the air, they lashed out with surprising speed and ferocity. _Twang! _The left leg struck Yoshimo in the eye. It hurt far more than you might expect, and he yelped. _Snap! _The right leg cracked over Arowan's offending buttocks like a whip.

There was nothing for it but to run. If the pantaloons didn't get them, Sir Ryan certainly would if they kept disrupting the highlight of his calendar. They fled down the halls, the enchanted trousers chasing them all the way. The stairs slowed them down though, and halfway up the pantaloons caught Arowan.

Two glistening legs wound about her, latching onto her neck and squeezing. Fortunately, being elastic, their attempt to throttle her failed, but it was still very uncomfortable.

"Get them off me!" she wheezed. He tried to pull them off her, but the pantaloons would not relinquish their grip. Her breath was coming in increasingly shallow gasps and she was starting to turn blueish. Yoshimo drew his katana. "No!" she choked, for he was almost as tipsy as she was. "No, no, no, no! Eeeek!"

"Hai YAA!"

The katana sliced neatly through the pantaloons, severing the legs from the waistband. Whatever magic was in them gave out, and they flopped to the floor in a harmless golden puddle. She straightened up, coughing lightly and massaging her neck. Yoshimo looked extremely proud of himself.

"My hero!" Arowan gushed, taking his arm and raising it like a champion to the vacant staircase. "All hail the Great Yoshimo; Slayer of the Golden Pantaloons!"

She was swaying slightly and a boozy flush had spread over her cheeks. Yoshimo scarcely noticed, for he'd indulged in a fair amount himself by this point. He was not, in truth, very used to it either. Alcohol always made him suffer disproportionately the next morning, so he normally avoided it. He was more of a herbs-man.

"I destroyed that lich and the Unseeing Eye… beholder… thing," the thief slurred, defensively. "That's what I should be a hero for. If one of the knights had done that they'd make a… a statue of him or something. But when a lowly thief does it, does he get any credit? No he does not."

"Of course you get credit," she smiled, patting his arm condescendingly and leaning her chin on his shoulder. "But how can such minor deeds compare to the mighty feat you have accomplished tonight, oh Hammer of the Hosiery?"

"That's it!" Yoshimo growled, sheathing his katana and spinning her around with purpose. She squeaked drunkenly and skittered down the stairs, but he caught her at the last step around her middle. Arowan laced one of her legs about the back of his knee and bucked hard, sending them both crashing to the ground. She landed on top, and quickly turned herself over to place her knee against his chest.

"Ha!" she teased him, "Now what are you going to do?"

In response, he pretended to relax and surrender, and she let her guard down. Next thing she knew he was flipping them both over, his hand on the back of her head to make sure she didn't knock it on the marble floor. They were both laughing like lunatics. She was pinned, smiling up at him, chest rising and falling. Yoshimo stopped laughing and swallowed hard.

He wanted to kiss her, and he doubted she'd raise any objection if he did, but Keldorn's warning rang in his ears. Besides there was still the geas. What was he thinking? He ought to have spent the evening raising funds toward Bodhi's fifteen thousand, not drinking and flirting. He stood hastily, pulling Arowan to her feet.

"Come then," he said breathlessly. "Let us return and see Anomen take his well-earned place amongst the Most Pretentious Order of the Haughty Heart."

"Indeed. Let us invoke a modicum of decorum, afore this entire evening descends into an undignified farce!" she replied, in an unflattering but accurate imitation of Sir Ryan.

She followed him, happily and obliviously hammered. Despite everything they had been through, Yoshimo had a gift for making her feel carefree and untroubled. This escapade had left her more cheerful than she had felt in a very long time. It was not to last, however. As they approached the hall, they heard angry voices emanating from it.

"I SPIT AT YOUR FEET YOU FOOL!"

The voice rang through the side door to the hall, just as Yoshimo's fingers brushed the latch. They knew immediately which squire it belonged to, but hoped against hope that they might be mistaken.

"What in Ilmater's name?" whispered Arowan.

The handle twisted by itself under Yoshimo's fingers, and he let go in surprise. The next moment the door opened and Keldorn came through, mopping his brow and looking pale.

"Alas, it is as I feared," he said heavily. "Young Anomen has failed his test."


	10. The Head of a Pin

"Oh!" Arowan screwed her eyes closed and took a deep breath. She felt desperately sorry for Anomen, but there was nothing they could do. "Can he appeal, or retake the test next time?"

"There is no appealing the decision," Keldorn said. "Very occasionally in the Order's history it has happened that a fallen squire or paladin has been reinstated based on some heroic deed but…"

"YOU ARE DOGS, ONE AND ALL!"

"…I fear Anomen has already closed that door."

They hurried out to the front of the Order building, where Jaheira was already waiting. They had all, Keldorn included, had a few too many drinks, but the chilly night air helped revive them a bit. The seagull was back. It was perched on the bridge, watching the party intently with beady little eyes. There was no time to worry about that now, however. The door burst open and Anomen stormed out.

Nobody had expected that he would take this well, but he was not even taking it with dignity. His eyes blazed with murderous fury. Arowan had thought, when he was describing his anger issues to her, that he might have blown them out of proportion in his head. Now she could see that this was not the case. It was easy, watching him like this, to picture him going on a rampage to slaughter his sister's killers.

"Helm's beard, I cannot believe this!" he roared. "All my life I have served the Order, and now I am cast aside like garbage! Curse them all!"

He drew his sword and made as if to go back inside. This would at best add to his humiliation and at worst earn him a blade through the belly. Four sets of hands grappled with him, pulling him away and into the street.

"Anomen, please calm down!" Arowan begged. "It's not such a bad thing!"

"Shut up!" he snapped at her. "You have no idea what it is like to have everything torn from your grasp and thrown in your face. Stay calm if you wish, I've no stomach for these games now. I ought to slaughter the whole lot of them!"

Arowan placed herself between him and the door. It was a bold move. The failed knight was struggling with such insane fury that she would not put it past him to take a swipe at her. Yoshimo threw both his arms about Anomen's right elbow, as Jaheira seized his wrist. Between them, they were able to prise the sword from his grasp. Keldorn was holding him under the arms while they worked.

Without warning, Anomen jerked his head back viciously. There was a loud crack, and Keldorn stumbled backward, blood streaming from his nose.

"Anomen enough!" the ranger cried, wishing she had drunk less and her head was clearer. "You're going to get yourself killed!"

"If there is a lesson to be learned from this, Anomen, it is that you need to find the self-discipline to control this rage!" Keldorn said, holding a handkerchief to his streaming nose.

"Shut up dog!" hurled Anomen. "I've listened to your pompous lessons all my life and it's gotten me nowhere. Self-righteous preacher!" The seagull began squawking and flapping her wings urgently. It was an unimportant thing, but just enough to distract Anomen. He deflated a little and sighed. "I am no longer part of the Order. I do not need to tolerate you treating me like a child."

"In time you will see, boy, that you act like a child," Keldorn retorted, unwisely.

It was fortunate that Anomen no longer had his sword, but his fist swung sharply, blacking the older man's eye. Panicking, Arowan flung herself between them, as Yoshimo held Anomen back. He was not quite large enough to do this alone, but Jaheira's entangling vines soon sprang to his aid.

"Jaheira, when the vines wear off, get Anomen out of here!" Arowan panted. "Turn into a grizzly bear and drag him if you have to. We'll meet you at the Copper Coronet. I'll fetch Viconia. Yoshimo, stay a moment."

Keldorn, Arowan and Yoshimo went back inside the Order building. Another of the four squires was leaning against the wall, weeping bitterly. Apparently Anomen was not the only disappointed candidate. Three young knights were gathered about him, patting him on the arm sympathetically. From the sounds of merriment coming from the hall the other two had become knights, their unsuccessful peers already forgotten. The men headed automatically for the stairs but the ranger did not mean to retrieve Viconia straight away.

"Is there somewhere private we can talk?" Arowan asked anxiously. Keldorn nodded and led the way to Ryan Trawl's office. It was currently vacant since Sir Ryan was in the hall and they sat down at his mahogany desk. "Keldorn, there is something you should know. Yoshimo, you too, that's why I asked you to stay. Jaheira is already aware."

"Tell me," Keldorn said kindly, still dabbing uncomfortably at his nose. "Does it concern the Servant of all Faiths?"

"Yes," she frowned. "And Anomen."

"I am to take it then," Keldorn said, "That when you asked for the boy, it was not really because the stories of his epic reputation had spread to your ears. What about his potential for a great destiny, were you also making that part up?"

"No," said Arowan darkly. "I need to go back a little way to explain this. You are aware of the recent war between Baldur's Gate and a crusade led by a woman named Caelar Argent?"

"Of course," replied Keldorn. "The aasimar Caelar was of great interest to all orders of paladinhood. Many believed that she was the Servant of all Faiths. A far more likely candidate than your drow, some might argue."

"I was effectively drafted into their army," she went on, choosing to ignore that remark, "And on the march we liberated a half-orc from the crusaders. A blackguard by the name of Dorn Il-Khan. They'd caught him attempting to wage a one-man war against the Servant of all Faiths. He took a strange interest in me, though it was obvious that he does not like me very much. The demon master to whom he is bound showed me visions of a terrible future he has planned."

She related to them everything that she had seen. The burning drow city, the slaughter of its occupants and Anomen a miserable slave in the service of the invading elf army. Keldorn and Yoshimo listened intently as she spoke. When she had recalled every detail she could think of, the thief seemed troubled, but the injured knight had peculiarly perked up.

"We believe that only the Servant of all Faiths can stop it," Arowan finished, "And that is why Dorn Il-Khan was hunting her."

"Stop it?" Sir Keldorn exclaimed. "Why would you wish to stop it?"

Arowan blinked.

"I… I don't understand," she admitted. She'd had quite a lot of wine. Perhaps she was not explaining herself as clearly as she thought she was. She tried again.

"As I understand it child, according to these visions, Anomen may one day participate in the eradication of an _entire drow city?_" Keldorn asked.

"Yes!" Arowan nodded, relieved that she had finally got her point across. For some reason, Yoshimo was looking from her to Keldorn and biting his lip. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" Keldorn cried, brandishing his bloodied hanky at them. "I am exceedingly relieved! I worried for poor Anomen when he failed his test, but it seems as though Helm means to give him the opportunity to make something of his life after all. Vanquishing one of the foul drow settlements! I don't suppose you could tell which one?"

"N- no," Arowan said quietly. She knew next to nothing about Underdark geography.

"Ah well, no matter," smiled Keldorn. "Thank you for telling me this Arowan. You have greatly set my mind at ease. Now the drow upstairs, the one that was supposed to burn before. You believe that she will prevent this from coming to pass?"

"No," Yoshimo cut in, suddenly fearing for Viconia's safety. "No, my friend just got a little muddled. We Ilmatari seldom indulge in the wine, you know? Viconia will… er… show Anomen the way. That is what Arowan meant to say. Yes?"

He kicked her shin under the desk.

"Yes!" she yelped. "That's what I was getting at. No Viconia, no burning city. She is absolutely essential."

"I think we had best go and make sure that Anomen is alright," Yoshimo said, standing pointedly. "Thank you for your time. Perhaps, since Arowan is so much recovered, it might be as well to send us on work away from the Order? _Far away_ if you catch my drift. At least until he has calmed down."

"A sensible suggestion," Keldorn nodded. "The High Merchant of Trademeet has put in a request for assistance, and we haven't assigned anyone to deal with the Umar Hills yet. I shall see what can be arranged."

The thief led the way out, but Arowan had grown quite fond of the fatherly knight and was finding this conversation distressing. She turned back, with large eyes and spoke to him almost pleadingly.

"But Sir Keldorn, you cannot be in favour of culling an entire city?" she whined. "Drow culture has some horrible elements to it, but they cannot all be evil. You cannot believe that they deserve to die just for being drow?"

The aging knight had to consider this. It was abundantly clear that he considered 'drow' and 'evil' to be synonymous words.

"From what you just told me, they were casting detect evil in the vision and sparing those few who did not glow," Keldorn pointed out. "And they did not slay the children. So forgive me, but I do not see the logic of your argument?"

"An excellent point well made," agreed Yoshimo, pulling Arowan out by the arm. She looked at him in shock. "_Stop talking!" _he mouthed, turning his face so that the knight would not see. Then he added to Keldorn, "We will not keep you from your charming wife and daughter a moment longer. Good evening."

He pulled Arowan apace, half-running toward the staircase.

"You agree with him?" she cried. "They were lining up pregnant women to take that detect evil test, what are the babies they carry supposed to have done? And the orphaned children, alone in the Underdark with only a handful of surviving adults to protect them? They won't last long!"

Yoshimo spun her about on the bottom step again. This time he was not teasing but deadly serious.

"I fear, my friend, that it is Viconia who won't last long if we don't get her out of here quickly," he said urgently. "I threw Keldorn off by changing our story, but that only worked because he's had even more wine than we have! Supposing he walks back into that hall and tells Sir Ryan that the Sharran cleric upstairs is all that stands in the way of an epic elfin victory against the drow?"

That sobered Arowan up, and Viconia herself needed little convincing to make haste. She had no difficulty at all believing that the paladins had it in for her, and had been sleeping in her armour against such an eventuality (a habit she had picked up from Freya on the road to Dragonspear).

Knowing that at least some of them would have to come back for a supply of numbing potion and to receive their instructions, they left most of their belongings behind. Viconia was draped in a heavy hood to hide her face and silver hair, and bundled outside. Arowan thought it unlikely that Keldorn would come hunting for them at the Inn, but to make Viconia feel better they put her up at a different tavern in the Bridge District.

"This is your fault," Viconia said to her accusingly. "You should never have brought me to that kennel of rabid dogs in the first place!"

"Goodnight Viconia," Arowan sighed. On the way out she turned to Yoshimo and said, "Is it too late to take her back? I'm almost regretting that Rejiek Hidesman fled town. He could have made her into a nice pair of gloves to go with the Freya-coat."

"You have a dark sense of humour sometimes my friend," said Yoshimo. He sighed. "Why did Irenicus bother to make that coat do you think? It's not like it will have powers. And why did it not turn to dust with the rest of Freya?"

Arowan glanced at the mound of ashes where the tannery once stood. Nobody had wanted to go and clean the place out, so the city guards had burned it to the ground instead.

"Do my fingernails dust when I chew them?" asked Arowan. "Am I constantly walking around leaving glitter trails when my hairs fall out? Only the parts of the body attached to a Bhaalspawn at the actual moment of death dust, and Freya was skinned alive."

They continued toward the slums coming up against nothing worse than a pair of muggers. She would not kill them, instead taking their weapons and handing them fifty gold pieces each. Yoshimo sighed and warned her that her kindness was for naught; without daggers they would be mugged themselves in this part of the city. Sure enough, this happened before the pair were even out of sight. Arowan looked nonplussed.

"I'm not so naive as you and Viconia imagine you know," she told him. "For an Ilmatari, it is not always about the charitable act itself. Sometimes its about showing people that if they ever do decide to change for the better, there are others in the world who will give them a chance and treat them decently."

"Hypothetically, supposing Irenicus wished to repent," remarked Yoshimo, "Could you allow for redemption in him?"

"Could I? No," admitted Arowan. "Could Ilmater? Possibly. But since he clearly doesn't repent, it is a non-issue either way. As for what he wants with Freya's fur…" her lips thinned. "Might be he means to send it to Baldur's Gate."

The lights of the Copper Coronet were deceptively warm and welcoming. Since they had turfed out the slavers at the Order's instruction, the tavern had been taken over by former gladiators and improved a bit. It was still far from a savoury establishment. All the courtesans were now paid employees rather than slaves and the fights were between dogs rather than human children. Yet it was still a place of misery and crime.

At least there would be a good meal on offer. 'Meat pies,' according to the chalkboard sign propped up at the entrance. Underneath, in rather fancier lettering, somebody had painted; _"Nashkel Taverns Bespoke Hand-Crafted House Ale, now available in Low Fat and Cabbage Spiced."_

"Bernard," Arowan observed with a wry smile, when he read it out to her.

"Why send the coat to Baldur's Gate?" asked Yoshimo curiously.

"Her father-in-law, Duke Silvershield, was a foolish, incompetent man and he allowed Irenicus to place him under a geas," Arowan said. "He obeyed the letter of his instructions but not the spirit. He delivered Freya to Irenicus, but he sent her out fully armed and armoured with an adventuring party. In return she was supposed to bring Skie's soul back."

"You sound as though you have little sympathy for him," Yoshimo observed, wondering if she felt so coldly toward all of the wizard's geas slaves.

"His last words to Freya were that if she failed Skie again he would give his daughter her flayed fur as a funeral shroud," said Arowan. "I don't think he meant it literally, but it's the sort of sick joke Irenicus would play on someone who crossed him."

It was. Yoshimo put his face into his hands and moaned, wishing that he hadn't asked. The next moment he felt warm, firm arms about him. She realised, belatedly, that sharing this with another of Irenicus' geas slaves must be rather frightening. The thief held her back, tightly. They could battle golden pantaloons and champion the Servant of all Faiths, but ultimately no distraction was going to change the fact that they were both in serious trouble.

Yet be distracted they must. It was that or scream at walls until the sadistic monsters came for them. They went inside, not noticing that the seagull had followed them and was watching intently from atop a lamppost.

* * *

* * *

Next morning at breakfast, Yoshimo looked so grim that he put Arowan in mind of Shank and Carbos. Great bags hung beneath his cloudy eyes and when they offered him the bread basket he pushed it away with a queasy shake of his head. They left him alone.

Eating at a table opposite a vacant-looking lady with purple hair, sat Minsc. Boo was nibbling crumbled biscuits dunked in ale from his own little saucer. It was the sort of thing that Dynaheir would have prevented him from doing while she was still alive. He seemed pleased to see them, though a little out of spirits.

"Arowan, meet Hexxat," he introduced them. "Hexxat meet Jaheira and Arowan. Yoshimo is over there. Anomen and Keldorn, I do not see?"

"Keldorn is back at the Order," Arowan said quietly, "And Anomen hasn't come out of his room yet. Go easy when you see him, he failed his test to be a knight last night. He's in a bad way."

"That is sad news indeed," sighed Minsc. Hexxat looked up and said in a vague far away voice that he should go to Dragomir's tomb. He would not be sad if he went to the tomb. There was great treasure there, apparently. "I am searching for Edwin, not treasure Hexxat," Minsc said. Hexxat did not acknowledge him but stood and drifted about from one table to the next asking for volunteers to accompany her.

"How goes the hunt Minsc?" Jaheira asked, drawing up a chair.

"Not well," he admitted with a deep sigh. "Edwin is a troublesome little wizard. Every time we catch sight of him, he vanishes and pops up somewhere else. 'Stand still,' I cry, 'that I might place the righteous boot of justice on your ignoble behind!' But he is most uncooperative."

"Sounds like you need to find yourself a party," said Arowan. "Get a wizard of your own. Or a druid."

"Minsc is trying," the ranger sighed, "But so far I have only been able to find a thief."

"Oh, well, that's a start!" said Arowan encouragingly. "Is she any good?"

"Ye-es," said Minsc slowly. "She is an excellent thief, but Boo and I agree that there is something wrong with Hexxat." He looked around conspiratorially, then leaned in and whispered, "She is not quite right in the head."

"Excuse me for cutting in," Yoshimo groaned, "But the noise in this tavern is like the onslaught of a thousand hammers against my skull. I would welcome the walk to the Order. Ilmater take pity on your humble servant, I swear I shall never drink again."

"Who is going to watch Anomen? We cannot bring him back to the Order, it would be nothing short of cruelty," Arowan said.

Jaheira decided to be the one to stay. It had to be her really. Viconia was in another tavern, Yoshimo could barely put one foot in front of the other and she did not trust Anomen not to lash out at Arowan. He might decide to take a pot shot at her too, of course, but he would be biting off more than he could chew if he did. The failed knight was strong, but no match for the thumping great bear that the druid could become at will.

When they reached the Order, the cheer of the celebrations had already evaporated. The drama, it transpired, had not ended with Anomen leaving. Shortly after that, Keldorn's wife had caused a scene because he had been neglecting her all evening. Arowan and Yoshimo discovered this because she had been spotted leaving with the owner of the golden pantaloons. They were all but swamped by gossiping squires, eager to learn who he was.

"Don't know, don't care," Yoshimo had groaned, massaging his temples. "Now pray allow me to die in peace."

Their meeting with Keldorn was brief. He too was not feeling wonderful after the previous night's excesses. His eye had turned a livid purple, his nose was so swollen it was a miracle that he could breathe out of it, and he could no longer process his ale as readily as he had in his youth. He had forced himself into his armour, they suspected, solely for the benefit of this meeting.

"First we want you to go and assist the High Merchant of Trademeet," Keldorn said curtly. "I'll mark the location on your map. He is beset by problems from the sound of things. The local druids are attacking the town for no apparent reason, genies have taken over the marketplace and a skinned body was found on the road. That should keep you busy for a while. Report back here when you're done, we've another task for you in the Umar Hills."

"I can dance on the head of a pin too," muttered Yoshimo, but Keldorn was feeling far too gross himself to care about sarcasm.

"No thank you, dancing to Trademeet will more than suffice," the old knight said, sliding Sir Ryan's waste paper bin discretely closer to his chair. "You may go now. RIGHT NOW!"

As they closed the door, they heard the sound of heavy retching. Arowan looked down at their map. It wasn't too far a trek. If they left before lunch, they should probably reach Trademeet in time for supper the next day. They walked back to the Copper Coronet in silence, mainly because Yoshimo was in no real state for chatter. Indeed, as they approached the tavern the thief winced at the bawdy noises coming from within.

"Let's wait outside for a moment," Arowan suggested, flagging down a passing street urchin to take a message to Viconia. The drow needed to be ready to leave soon. She paid the boy five times the going rate. Yoshimo winced a bit at her giving away coin, given that he only had five days left to find Bodhi's fifteen thousand, but a handful of bronze would make no difference.

"Why do healing potions not work on hangovers?" the thief moaned, rubbing his burning eyes.

"Dance on the head of a pin?" Arowan repeated lightly. "I've not come across that saying before. I've been trying to figure out what it means. Is it a euphemism for something?"

"A euphemism for…? No wait, I see. The 'pin' in this instance being a small and precise part of the female anatomy, yes?" he enquired. "Perhaps we should tell Sir Keldorn that there has been a change of plan. Clearly the last time he put us on pest control duty you left your mind in the sewers. We must go and retrieve it."

"But it was having so much fun," she sighed.

"Your friend is back," Yoshimo grinned through his pain and pointed.

Arowan turned around and felt a surge of irritation. The seagull was still following them, still watching. If it was a spy, it was not a particularly subtle one. Nor effective. How could it hear their conversations from a distance, especially when they went indoors? She was beginning to wonder if maybe it was just an ordinary bird. One which really liked ham salad on rye and was chasing her about Athkatla in the hope of stealing another.

"I don't have any more food!" she snapped at the seagull. "Go away!"

"Squawk! Awk-awk-awk-awk!"

"Please stop," groaned Yoshimo, rubbing his aching eyes. This was why he did not usually drink. He'd had enough fun the previous evening to perhaps justify what he was suffering now, but normally it wasn't worth it. "What do you want with your unholy screeching?"

It was a rhetorical question. He had not been expecting any sort of response. So, what happened next made Yoshimo wonder if someone in the Copper Coronet had slipped something into his water. The gull hopped to the ground and began nudging little stones, twigs and fallen leaves about the floor with its beak. It was arranging them into what looked like letters.

"It is spelling something out!" Arowan cried. "It is possessed! Demon Seagull!"

The seagull looked up at her. For a species which lacked the requisite muscles for facial expressions, this one was doing a remarkable job of giving her a withering stare.

"H – E – L – P," Yoshimo read aloud. "M – E."


	11. Birds of a Feather

Birds were not unheard of in the Copper Coronet. Messenger pigeons, chickens destined for the pot and even parrots were not an uncommon sight. Seagulls, however, were a bit odd. Especially a domesticated one, perched proudly on Yoshimo's arm like a stately hunting falcon. The rest of their party were sat at a shadowy table in the corner. Viconia's face was covered, and Anomen was hiding his grief beneath his helm. They were trying to keep a low profile, and the presence of the gull was not helping.

"What are the two of you up to this time?" cried Jaheira in exasperation.

"Mum, I need you to check out this bird!" Arowan said, slightly breathlessly. "I think we're looking at a Melicamp situation."

"Who is Melicamp?" asked Yoshimo.

"Don't ask her that!" Jaheira groaned, but it was too late. A wicked grin spread across the ranger's face, and she cleared her throat. In fact, her response was so polished that the druid suspected she'd been composing fresh chicken jokes for the past year.

"Melicamp was a man of im-_peck-_able character," replied Arowan. "He was under a _fowl _curse that saw him polymorphed into a chicken. Luckily, he _plucked _up the courage to go back to his master, who _laid _the problem to rest."

"Have you quite finished?" Anomen snapped.

"Don't you like my yolks… I mean jokes?" asked Arowan innocently. "I'd do a rimshot after each one if only I had some _drumsticks._"

Viconia looked at the ground. Tormenting Melicamp with horrible puns had been a favoured pastime of Xan's too*. It had been so long that her anger against him had burned out, and now the memory just made her sad. Of course, she'd still torture him to death if their paths ever crossed again, but her heart wasn't in it anymore.

"_Manus, potentis, paro," _she sighed, waving her arms half-heartedly at the seagull.

At once the weight balanced on Yoshimo's arm grew heavier and he had to catch the creature with his other hand. Its feathers were receding, except for those on its head which turned bright pink like a flamingo. Fingers sprouted from the tips of the wings, the legs and body were lengthening, and the beak shrunk into a nose.

Even Anomen removed his helmet to get a better look. Viconia cursed and shrunk deeper into the shadows for all eyes were on them now, and the pink-haired, ecstatic half-elf who had just materialized in their thief's arms. She took one look at her own hands, screeched joyfully, clasped them either side of Yoshimo's face, and kissed his lips in celebration.

"And hello to you?" Yoshimo greeted her weakly. He put her down as gently as he could and stepped backward. The woman was vibrating with happiness, but his head was still spinning from his hangover, and he wished she'd express her gratitude less exuberantly.

"Well there's a fine-looking bird," Anomen noted appreciatively. "I shall take a more active interest in ornithology from now on!"

"Once again you allow your males to kiss other women," sneered Viconia quietly. "Will you take my advice and discipline him this time, or do you want another Rasaad on your hands?"

Arowan was not listening, for the seagull-woman's celebrations had not ended with Yoshimo. She promptly released him, hopped down from his stunned arms and was now dancing euphorically with the ranger. She had a sunny disposition and was spinning Arowan around so much that it was making her dizzy, but she kept a hold of her hands to get a better look. She was sure that she had seen her before.

"Don't I know you from somewhere?" Arowan asked.

"Nice that I'm so memorable!" the half-elf laughed, still giddy with joy. "Neera! Bridgefort! Caelar's crusade, remember? I tried to talk to you, you told me to go away? Ah… those were the days!"

"Sorry about that," Arowan replied awkwardly. "I really wasn't having a great day, nothing personal. If you don't mind my asking, how did you end up as a seagull?"

"Well there's a story," Neera began, plonking herself at the table. "It was just after the Hero of Baldur's Gate had collapsed on Boareskyr Bridge. Voghiln had gone missing after the battle and nobody else seemed to care, so I went looking for him myself. I found him in the woods. Baeloth had put him under some sort of charm spell."

"What for?" asked Jaheira sharply.

"For his new fighting pits. He wanted to make us gladiators. In _Thay _of all places!" Neera cried. "I don't know if you know what they do to wild mages in Thay? It's not pretty. Unless you think disembodied brains are pretty."

"And you left with him anyway?" Viconia sneered.

Neera was inspecting herself all over. Apart from a stubborn patch of tail feathers and a weird craving for fried potato chunks, she was completely human again. Her kit was more or less intact, though she had been forced to leave her pack on the boat. Without asking, she helped herself to a swig from Anomen's tankard, but the cleric made no complaint.

"You should try to be less _gull-_ible next time," said Arowan.

"Hey! He used a charm spell on me. I wasn't gull…" Neera protested. Then her eyes widened. "Oh, I get it. Ha! Anyway, Baeloth never got me as far as Thay. My wild surges almost sank the ship and the sailors pitched me off far out to sea."

"That's terrible!" Arowan cried. "I can't believe Baeloth would commit such an _egg-_regious crime!"

"Neither can I!" Viconia agreed angrily. "Not only did that male excuse himself from my service without permission, but he was stupid enough to bring a wild mage onto a boat? Foolish creature! What a disgrace to the name of drow!"

"Well it didn't seem like such a big deal at the time. I mean, I have magic," Neera shrugged. "So I thought, hey, I'll just polymorph myself and fly back to land! Good plan, right? Only I had a wild surge, decreased my spellcasting abilities a whole bunch of levels, and lost the power to turn myself back again."

"How _peck-_culiar," chipped in Arowan.

Jaheira looked about ready to smack the ranger with her staff, and she was not the only one. Anomen was far from in the mood for puns, and a band of surly dwarves were quietly asking Bernard if he had any rotten fruit to spare for throwing at her.

"You've used 'peck' already," Yoshimo reminded her. "Try harder next time."

"I tried to figure out a way to get back to normal, but it wasn't that simple," Neera sighed. "First I tried the Temple of Ilmater. You'd think they'd be a pretty safe bet, right?"

"The Ilmatari wouldn't help you?" Arowan frowned, puzzled.

"The Ilmatari tried to _eat _me!" Neera cried. "So many starving homeless to feed and a nice, plump seagull just comes waddling through the door? Should have seen it coming really. I didn't have time to spell anything out before they started trying to pluck me. That was a struggle to escape from, I can tell you. After that, I kept my eyes open but every spell caster that happened by turned out to be a Red Wizard, or a slaver, or looking for something to sacrifice on their temple altars. So I was stuck as a seagull for months, laying eggs and stealing sandwiches."

She shot an apologetic look at Arowan.

"Was my sandwich your_ gull-_ty pleasure, you_ bird_ular?" Arowan asked her accusingly. Neera stared at her blankly. "You know, birdular, because burglar? And you were stealing?"

"Now I think you are trying a bit _too _hard," Yoshimo sighed.

"Then I heard you two talking," Neera went on, gesturing at the druid and the ranger, "And you spotted that I wasn't really a bird. So then I followed you around a bit to make sure you'd actually help me and not turn me into drumsticks or sell me to a slaver or something."

She drained the rest of Anomen's tankard. The temporary distraction that the appearance of an attractive woman had provided, was already lost. He was back to brooding again, picking up a Nashkel Taverns beer mat and ripping it into little pieces between his fingers.

"Why Thay?" Viconia asked suddenly. They all looked at her. "Why would Baeloth set up his new pits in Thay? I cannot think of any connection he had to that country except for…"

"…Edwin," Neera finished for her sourly. "Yep. Fifty points to the scary drow lady. Edwin is funding his fighting pit. Baeloth was waxing lyrical about him all voyage, and being charmed we had to sit and listen to it. Edwin this, Edwin that. You'd think they were in love!"

"Sure, I could _swallow_ that theory," Arowan said. She was enjoying herself immensely. "Get it? Swallow? Because swallows are a type of bird?"

"I'm afraid not, that connection was too cryptic," Yoshimo said sternly. "Time to give up now."

But Neera was doubled over, crying with laughter, as though she had never heard anything funnier in her life than Arowan's puns. This rather threw the ranger off. _Nobody _appreciated her jokes, never mind reacted with this much over-the-top hysteria.

"Ok, ok. I've got one," Neera grinned breathlessly. "Why don't seagulls fly over bays? Because then they would be baygulls!"

"We have a long walk to Trademeet, Arowan!" Jaheira snapped. "I am going to get Bernard to wrap us up some supplies and wait for you outside until you are done behaving like a child!"

Viconia joined her immediately. She was eager to leave Athkatla and the threat of the paladins as quickly as possible. Anomen looked torn. His eyes flickered from Neera to the older women and back again. Yoshimo suspected that his decision would be based on which woman he found more attractive, or at least which one he thought he had the best shot with. In the end it came down to numbers, two ladies versus one, and Anomen tailed Jaheira.

"Shall we depart, or have you got any more puns to subject me to?" Yoshimo asked, settling down into Jaheira's chair. Arowan rubbed her hands together and cracked her fingers in preparation.

"Ok, _steal_ yourself, because I have the _pick_ of thief puns," she said. "I don't even have to _lock _them up."

"Atrocious," said Yoshimo, ruffling her hair with a fond smile.

"Ok, ok. I've got one. Why doesn't this thief appreciate your jokes?" Neera asked.

"Because his hangover is turning him into a grumpy git?" Arowan replied pleasantly.

"No! Because he _takes everything_ literally!" Neera howled. Yoshimo grinned and shook his head.

"Well it was a pleasure to meet you Neera, I am honoured to have been of assistance," he said, "But we should probably get going now."

Neera deflated. She had been all by herself for months and didn't want to be alone once more. Besides which, now that she was human again, it was only a matter of time before the Red Wizards resumed their hunt. She explained this and asked to join their party. Arowan seemed ready to accept, which disappointed Yoshimo. From the moment Neera kissed him, he had been watching the ranger hopefully for signs of jealousy.

Fun though a wild mage might be to have around, however, he had to decline. Edwin was working for Bodhi and Irenicus. Sooner or later, partnering up with Neera was going to mean crossing the Red Wizard. They wouldn't thank him for that. Moreover, Edwin had been aiding Bubbles, whose success was Arowan's sole chance of survival. Should Bubbles fail to bring Eric back from the Abyss, Irenicus was sure to recapture his backup Bhaalspawn.

"Apologies dear lady, but on this occasion, we must say no," said Yoshimo. Neera pulled a face like a starving kitten.

"Wait! I have an idea!" Arowan said. "Listen, Neera, it may interest you to know that there is a man staying at this very tavern, who happens to be hunting Edwin Odesseiron. As luck would have it, he is trying to put a party together. His name is Minsc. Let me introduce you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Is the seagull subplot just an excuse to produce all the chicken puns I couldn't work into Shifting Targets? Maybeak...


	12. Fortune Teller

It was a beautiful day for the walk to Trademeet. The sun smiled down on them, and there was just enough of a breeze to make the heat comfortable. After half a year of being cooped up in Athkatla, both druid and ranger took off like cats out of a box. For some time, Yoshimo, Anomen and Viconia walked by themselves. The clerics made for surly company. Their failed knight was sinking into deep misery, while Viconia (determined that any friend of Arowan's was not going to be a friend of hers) resisted all attempts at conversation.

After a while they saw mother and daughter some way ahead. They had strayed from the road and were standing waist-deep in the middle of a green crop field. The pair were looking up into the branches of a single tree with interest. At length, Arowan shook her head and returned to the party, while Jaheira transformed into a bear and began to climb the tree.

"Might as well take a five-minute rest," Arowan said as she approached them. "Mum has found a beehive. She's going to poach a bit of honeycomb."

"That won't go far between five of us," grumbled Anomen, "And we have plenty of food to last us until Trademeet."

"It isn't for eating. She makes our soap out of it," replied the ranger. Yoshimo smiled wanly. It seemed that he hadn't been imagining it before. That was honey he had scented in her hair.

She sat down at the side of the road in the dust and took a few gulps from her waterskin. The bear had now reached the beehive, but they could not sting through her thick hide. A real bear would have sent the whole thing crashing to the ground and ripped it open, but Jaheira was a druid. She meant to siphon off a little of the extra, and was painstakingly removing a small section of wall with her claws.

"So Minsc has a mage of his own to take on Edwin?" sighed Yoshimo, shaking his head at Arowan. He was speaking quietly so that Viconia and Anomen would not hear him. "Arguably it was not in our interests to arrange that, my friend. We both saw Edwin helping Bubbles. She needs to succeed. If she doesn't…"

"I don't want to think about what happens if she doesn't," Arowan said repressively. "But Edwin wasn't making any meaningful contribution to fighting that lich. He must have fled the battle by the time you got back. I seriously doubt that if Minsc, Neera and Hexxat manage to get their hands on him it will affect whether or not Bubbles manages to revive Eric."

There was a pause. The bear had stopped moving and had her paws over her eyes. Predictably, the bees were royally pissed off, and she was waiting patiently for them to calm down before carrying on. Yoshimo asked a question that had been keeping him awake in the early hours for some time now.

"Do you think Bubbles will be able to revive Eric?"

"Honestly? No, I don't." Arowan replied grimly. It was not the answer that Yoshimo wanted to hear. She looked at him, stony faced. "I fear that Bubbles' efforts to bring him back may be hampered by his not wanting to come. I expect that he will try to resist it."

This possibility had not even occurred to Yoshimo, and with good reason. Eric had died before he had first set foot in Baldur's Gate, but he knew a little about him from Irenicus, Arowan and carefully phrased questions to Jaheira. Like Arowan, the necromancer had been a numbing potion addict, one obsessed with not dying. He had pursued staying alive as single-mindedly as Arowan had tried to free her parents from Irenicus' dungeon. Even to the extent of pouring his knowledge and powers into a geas ring for Bubbles, in case he should fail.

"You cannot be serious? Why would he resist revival?" Yoshimo puzzled, "After he went to all this effort?"

"Eric never exactly wanted to live forever. He was trying to avoid the afterlife," she explained. Yoshimo cocked his head to one side questioningly. That sounded like the same thing to him, so Arowan elaborated. "Oblivion, merely ceasing to exist, wasn't what frightened him. Eternity in the Abyss was. He'd worked out from studying prophecies and ancient texts in Candlekeep that Bhaalspawn go there when we die."

"I am not wholly unsympathetic to his fears," muttered Yoshimo. Eternal damnation was the fate that the geas tied his soul to too, unless he could find some way to escape it. She squeezed his fingers sadly.

"When he cast the geas, Eric believed that the Abyss was a place of eternal torture and suffering," she went on. "What he did not know then, but will know now, is that it is more of a waiting room. All he needs to do is stay put and endure the boredom until all the other Bhaalspawn are dead, and he will become part of a god. The irony is, Eric's biggest risk of damnation now, is if Bubbles _does_ bring him back. If he dies mortal, he'll doubtless be sent to hell for his crimes. If I know my brother at all, he won't risk it. He'll fight tooth and nail to stay in the Abyss."

"Can he resist being brought back though?" Yoshimo asked, clutching at any straw of hope. "Does he have a choice?"

"Well that is the question, isn't it?" Arowan mused. "But surely it must be easier to resurrect a willing soul than to drag someone back from the afterlife kicking and screaming?"

That, and Eric was smart, made smarter by stolen tomes of intelligence from the Candlekeep catacombs. He was certainly a great deal more intelligent than Bubbles and Bodhi, and possibly more so than Irenicus too. The necromancer would be lurking down there now, knowing that Bubbles was under a geas to pluck him from the safety of the Abyss. He'd be waiting in the underworld, all day every day, with nothing to turn his enormous scheming mind to but trying to outwit them.

If she were a gambling girl, her money would be on Eric finding a means to do it. She twirled her bow about in her hand as though sizing up her chances should Irenicus have to resort to using her. They were not good.

"I feel guilty for hoping that my brother will take my place as Irenicus' victim," she confessed. "It isn't something that an Ilmatari ought to hope, and yet I cannot help it. Talk about something else now Yoshimo. I don't want to dwell on this. There's nothing I can do about it."

This was not entirely true. There was something she could do, and sometimes the thought crept into her mind unbidden as she tried to sleep at night. Arowan did not want to die, but if Irenicus recaptured her then death was inevitable anyway. She could save herself a lot of torment. The thought made her shudder visibly.

"As you wish, my friend," Yoshimo replied. He too had grown rather disheartened by the conversation. Instead he brought up the other question that had been on his mind. "What did you think of Neera? She is very… friendly… yes?"

"She actually liked my puns," Arowan sighed wistfully. "If only she were a man, I think I'd be in love."

This was not the response that Yoshimo had privately been hoping for. He'd been angling for some hint of envy on Arowan's part, after another woman kissed his lips in front of her. Yet the ranger's face didn't betray so much as a flicker of disapproval.

"Your monk, Rasaad, did he make a lot of jokes then?" Yoshimo asked casually. Arowan snorted with derision.

"Rasaad barely grasps the concept of a joke!" she told him. "Which, to be fair, can sometimes be quite funny in its own right. But it gets old after a while."

"You definitely don't think you'd consider taking him back then?" he asked, his eyes on Jaheira. She had removed her paws from her face and was cautiously resuming her task.

"You've asked me that before," Arowan pointed out shrewdly.

"Cannot a friend be curious?" Yoshimo asked her. "I thought that without the numbing potions your answer may have changed."

Arowan idly drew the shape of a potion bottle in the dirt with her toes, then realised what she was doing and hastily scuffed it out. Resisting taking the potions was not hard. She only had to think about the terrible things she had said and done on them, and her mind recoiled in horror. Yet they were still the first thing she thought about in the morning and the last thing she thought about at night. Anomen did briefly become her favourite person in the world for about five minutes, twice a day, while he was administering her dose.

"Well, yes, that is possible," admitted Arowan. "Though I am not wholly weaned from them. I still take a couple of drops a day. I can feel again, but my feelings are sort of muted. Distant. Except for very strong ones, like when I think about Dad. Emotion to me, at the moment, is like a blunted knife. It takes a lot to make it cut me."

Yoshimo nodded. Perhaps he shouldn't have read so much into her lack of reaction to Neera's kiss. A bit of mild jealousy, if present, was hardly likely to puncture the numbing potion shield.

"But as for Rasaad," Arowan went on, "I had already made up my mind long before I took any numbing potions. When he left me in that prison cell while he went off chasing Alorgoth I felt a lot of things. Hurt, disappointed, heartbroken, lonely… but oddly enough, the one thing I didn't feel was _surprised_."

She glared off down the road ahead, but she seemed more angry with herself than with her former lover. Her eyes flashed as they met Yoshimo's and her next words were spoken very sharply and decisively.

"He should find a partner more like himself. Rasaad needs a woman who thrives off of bitterness and victimhood," she said coldly. Viconia was squatting a few feet from them, and Yoshimo could not help noticing the way Arowan's eyes narrowed at her as she spoke. "That woman isn't me."

"A harsh assessment," blinked Yoshimo. He tried to lighten the mood by adding with a cheeky grin, "So if he is not your type, then who is?"

"I'm not sure I have a type," Arowan replied carefully. She was neither foolish nor innocent, and it was fairly obvious that the thief was testing the water. She _did_ like him. Yet their situation was a complex one. Falling for each other now seemed like an invitation to heartache down the line. The odds of either of them surviving Irenicus were pretty low. The chances of both of them making it were near non-existent.

"How about a dashing, charming rogue?" Yoshimo suggested in an offhand way. His long dark hair and toned body caught the sun. He really was very attractive. Arowan felt her insides starting to melt treacherously.

"Mmm he sounds nice," she replied, eyes twinkling. "If you know of such a gentleman, perhaps you would care to introduce me when he is next in town?"

Yoshimo laughed and shook his head. Technically she had shot him down, but the flush beneath her freckles, accompanied by a shy smile was not entirely discouraging.

He knew better than to press further. As the day wore on, the sickness from his hangover gradually ebbed away and by lunch time he was in far better spirits. The Order had provided for them generously. There was crunchy bread, cheese, apples and several cold roast chickens. Dinner and their lunch and breakfast the following day promised to be equally excessive. Jaheira remarked, disapprovingly, that there was enough food here for a week in the wilderness, not a couple of days hike along easy roads.

By sunset of the next day, the golden spires of Trademeet poked over the horizon. Even Arowan, who was not fond of towns, had to admit that this one was uncommonly beautiful. The smallest houses each sported a landscaped garden, flowers cascaded from the balconies and the streets themselves were shimmering mosaics.

It was hard to believe that such a prosperous town could be so beset by problems, but indeed it was. They arrived, tired and hungry, to a fight at the gates themselves. Wild animals had been sent by the local druid order to torment the settlement, while the streets rang with the booming laughter of invading genies.

The beasts were not difficult to deal with, though it was distressing to slay wild animals which were only attacking because they had been magicked into doing so. Jaheira had just finished introducing the party to the town guard, and was asking the way to the nearest tavern, when a little boy darted through the gates and waved his pudgy palm in her face.

"Clear off!" the guard barked. "You lot aren't allowed to pedal your wares in Trademeet. Get out of here!"

The boy turned heel and darted just outside, beckoning to the party beseechingly. Imagining that he must be in some kind of trouble, the group followed him out. As it transpired, this was not the case.

"Fortunes!" piped up the little boy, waving a flyer under Jaheira's nose. "Fortunes forecast, luck and charm be yours. The mystic Kveroslava is taking palm readings now. Steal a glimpse of your future!"

Arowan's eyes narrowed. She did not like fortune tellers. They took advantage of the poor, the bereaved and the desperate, siphoning off what little they had in return for a ray of false hope. On the other hand, compared to other commoners she had seen passing by, this boy was poor. His bare feet were caked in dirt, and his clothes much too small for him. In the end she gave him a handful of gold coins, but refused a reading.

"Aww ma'am!" the boy whined. "I can't just bring a fistful of gold back. Dad'll think I stole it and whup me backside. I'll take you to Kveroslava. You might as well get your reading now, seeing as you paid for it anyway."

He scurried into a purple tent, just outside the gates of the town. Red, gold and green miniature lanterns were hanging inside it and there was a heavy smell of incense coming from within. Seated inside was a dark-haired woman bedecked with many bangles and shawls. Mystic-looking crystals were strewn over a low table. Arowan sniffed in approval that they were not allowed to practise their scam within Trademeet's walls.

"I'll do it," grinned Yoshimo. Arowan folded her arms stubbornly. "It's just a bit of harmless fun."

"Is it fun to convince a heartbroken mother that you can talk to her dead son?" Arowan protested, as Yoshimo clambered into the wagon after the boy. "Is it fun to take a beggar's last coin on the false promise that he'll be rich some day? Or tell a dying man that his wife will live if he spends ninety gold pieces on a bottle of snake oil? Stop encouraging these people!"

"You need to relax, my friend," Yoshimo laughed.

He led the party into the tent and sat opposite the brightly dressed woman. She had heard Arowan and was glaring at her. The ranger did not flinch and glared straight back.

"I greet you, strangers, on behalf of my family. I am Kveroslava, mother of this family and its heart." She smiled at Yoshimo. "If you wish, I can tell you something of your place in the future. A mere ten gold pieces should you desire the benefit of my gift of insight, good man." The boy tipped Arowan's coin into her hand, and she smiled. "You have purchased five readings! Come then, give me your palm. Sit beside me and let Kveroslava feel your aura."

Arowan snorted, but Yoshimo obligingly extended his hand and Kveroslava began to stroke it. He did not understand why the ranger had taken such a strong and intense objection to them. Almost certainly this woman was not a real fortune teller. Those individuals who really were blessed with the gift of farsight tended to be swept up at an early age by one of Faerun's many faiths.

Yet though she was clearly fake, it was equally obvious that her family was poor. This struggling mother had found a way to offer travellers some light-hearted entertainment in exchange for gold. Yoshimo could think of a great many worse options she could have chosen for keeping bread in her young son's belly. She traced the lines in his hand with her twinkling ring bedecked fingers. It tickled a little, but the thief did not complain.

"I'm sorry," the fortune teller said after a while. "I feel nothing distinct in your future, good man. Perhaps I am tired. Here, your coins are returned to you."

"Keep them," said Yoshimo, for they were Arowan's charity and not his in the first place.

"She handed back the coin instead of simply making something up?" Viconia whispered urgently, though in the small confines of the tent, everybody could hear her. "This one might be real, perhaps we should leave now."

"For once, something we can agree on," muttered Arowan. "The leaving part at any rate. Not the part about her being real."

Kveroslava's hand bunched into a fist around one of her sharper mystic crystals. She looked as though she would like to jam it into the ranger's eyeball.

Viconia had good cause to be wary of palmistry. The last fortune teller she had met, at a carnival in Nashkel, had proven devastatingly accurate. The drow was far from certain that she wished to know her future. Based on Lolth's threats, it very likely included driders and tentacle rods, once she had served her purpose as the Servant of all Faiths.

Kveroslava looked up at her, and without even taking her hand, her face split into a welcoming smile. Nobody on the surface ever reacted that way to a drow. Viconia shuffled backward mistrustfully, but the fortune teller took her palm and stroked it with her finger, almost affectionately.

"You are special," she smiled at Viconia. "You have a great destiny before you. Though you are far from home, know this: you shall return home soon. You will face choices harder than you ever thought they could be."

"Home?" snorted Viconia. "I have no wish to return home, woman. If the priestesses of Lolth were to come for me, they would drag me back to the Underdark as a corpse, nothing more."

"And yet home you must go," Kveroslava replied, her voice deepening dramatically. Arowan made no effort to conceal her eyeroll. "_Servant of all Faiths."_

"Ok, that's impressive," admitted Jaheira.

"That's not a secret, plenty of people know that Viconia is the Chosen One," Arowan snapped. "She probably had her son eavesdrop on our conversation as we were coming and now she's regurgitating it back in prediction-form."

"I didn't mention the Servant of all Faiths on the way here," said Jaheira. "Did you?"

"I don't remember," Arowan lied. Deep down, she knew she hadn't, but she did not want to give the fortune teller the satisfaction of hearing her admit it. She was still convinced that Kveroslava was a fraud, she just couldn't figure out how yet.

With a withering look at the ranger, Anomen pulled off his gauntlet and held his hand to the woman. He had failed his test of knighthood. He'd take any ray of hope or purpose. She held his hand for a long time, and a frown line appeared between her eyes.

"You strive to be noble, yet there is blackness in your heart," she said. "Beware, lest it consume all you love. Soon you shall stand on a precipice. Remember this if you seek to stand victorious; when the time comes to make your choice, your place is to hunt the lesser of two evils."

"I… see nothing in your words woman!" spat Anoman, snatching his hand back. "A waste of coin, nothing more! I… I wear the trappings of a knight but with no seal nor insignia. Anyone can guess that I am failed nobility."

"_Your place is to hunt the lesser of two evils_," Arowan agreed with a sneer. "That could mean literally anything!"

"It means the Blackguard, Dorn Il- Khan." Kveroslava said, with just a hint of smugness.

There was stunned silence in the tent. Even Arowan was thrown by this.

She knew about fortune tellers. They were not permitted to peddle their scams within the walls of Candlekeep, but sometimes they lurked about outside catching travellers on their way in and out. As a young teen she had approached one once, hopeful to know when she might leave the library behind her, or for some hint as to the whereabouts of her real parents.

All the man had done was take her coin, then converse with her. He'd taken her answers, then parroted them back to her in the form of vague prediction. Her future home would be in a forest? Well she was training to be a ranger. She would find love? Yes, most people do. Her foster father would die? Yes, but she had told the fortune teller that he was very old. It was transparent trickery. Kveroslava was better at it, but she had to be getting her information from somewhere. Arowan worried about where.

"You are far from the one you love the most," the fortune teller had moved on to Jaheira. "I sense some dispute between you?" She was watching the druid's face carefully for a reaction. When it was clear from her pursed lips that this prediction was wrong, Kveroslava changed tack. "The spirits detect a powerful sense of duty to an organization coming between you. Your assigned tasks have pulled you far asunder. Rest assured that he thinks of you daily and will soon return to you…"

"ENOUGH!" Arowan barked, slamming both hands on the small table. Her mother looked as though she were going to cry, for of course Khalid would never return to her. Somehow, Kveroslava had learned that Jaheira was a Harper, but not that her husband was dead. "How is it that you know so much about us?"

"ARRRGH!" screeched the psychic dramatically, leaping to her feet and pointing at Arowan with a shaking finger. "Your destiny is fire and destruction, god-child! I see a man, a dark man whose life has been taken from him. He smiles! He smiles! I… I… NO! NO MORE! P- please forgive me good woman. You have overwhelmed my limited gifts. You… frighten me. I wish you good fortune."

The fortune teller pretended to weep, and her son scuttled forward to pat her back. He scowled accusingly at them and waved them from the tent. Arowan rolled her eyes at her.

"Oh, I am petrified," she said acidly. "I am totally sure that you are having a legitimate psychic vision and are not just trying to frighten me to get your own back because I called you out as a CON ARTIST!"

"Surely you cannot still doubt Kveroslava?" Viconia hissed urgently, "After everything she has told us!"

"I doubt Kveroslava is even her name!" Arowan retorted defiantly. "She slipped out of her accent about five times in the course of this ridiculous conversation. She's about as Rom as I am!"

Jaheira, however, had decided that the consultation was well and truly at an end. She bid the fortune teller and her son farewell in a constricted voice, and steered the party to the nearest inn. The druid was not the only one to take Kveroslava's words to heart. Anomen too was distressed by her mention of the blackness in him. As the last of the others went up to bed, he stayed in the bar alone, ale in hand.

* * *

* * *

It was a few hours later, when darkness had enveloped the town, that Arowan found herself being shaken awake by Yoshimo. At first, in her half-awake state, she thought that he was switching to a much more direct courtship approach, but it turned out to be something far more worrying. Anomen, he told her, had never come to bed. Now the thief could not even find him in the bar, though his table was strewn with empty bottles and he had left his pack behind.

Given his ever-darkening mood and his failed test, the party had a bad feeling about this. Jaheira and Viconia rose blearily and began to put their armour back on. Without bothering to dress, Arowan grabbed her cloak and bow and they stepped out into the night. Trademeet was little quieter under the stars. The genies, it seemed, did not sleep and were having a raucous good time. Just outside the walls, courtesans were flaunting their wares with increasingly desperate discounts. The genies had put some sort of stranglehold on commerce here and nobody had much spare gold anymore.

They headed for the exit and were almost at the gates when they ran into a strange woman. She froze and stared at the sight of them. Arowan was certain that she had never seen this particular person before in her life. She was quite distinctive with her red curly hair and olive complexion. Yet at the same time there was something oddly familiar about her sagging skin and drooping eyelids.

"Arowan, we may not have time for this!" Yoshimo reminded her urgently. He was scanning the streets in search of Anomen.

They asked the city watch, who told them that they had seen the cleric headed back to the fortune teller's tent. The pair hastened there but the coloured lanterns had been put out, and the mystic crystals taken away. There was nothing there but the tent itself and the small table. Apparently the family slept somewhere else. There was no sign of Anomen himself, but he must have come this way, in sight of the courtesans' patch.

"Yes, we saw him," purred one, once his tongue had been loosened with a little gold. "Came this way with nothing but his sword and set off into those trees, not quarter hour past. Didn't say a word. Oi, careful! There's wild beasts lurking in there!"

Heedless of the danger, ranger and thief were already sprinting. Anomen hadn't got far. He was panting, bloodied sword in hand, surrounded by the bodies of a wolf and several giant spiders. It was clear from the way he was swaying that he was extremely intoxicated. Having dealt with the animals, he had buried the hilt of his sword and propped it up with heavy rocks so that the tip pointed heavenward. He was leaning over it taking deep breaths.

"Do not do this, my friend," Yoshimo cautioned him.

"Silence dog, I have known you not half-a-year. I was with the Order since I grew old enough to flee my father's house," he cried. "We are not friends, you do not know me! If you did, you'd know how right Kveroslava was about the blackness in my heart. I will defeat it now, before it consumes me."

"Kveroslava is a fraud!" Arowan cried, kicking the sword over in frustration, and hurting her toes badly in the process.

"Don't take me for a fool girl!" roared Anomen. "The Blackguard she mentioned, that name, it meant something to you. Don't lie!"

"Yes," she said quietly. "The name Dorn Il-Khan means something to me, and I don't know where she got it from, but I am telling you she'll have heard it from somewhere. That is what these people do. They have excellent memories and a knack for collecting small details. It's her job. I admit, I do not know how Kveroslava managed this, but I do not believe that she can see the future and you shouldn't either."

An owl hooted somewhere deeper in the wood. Though the bright round moon offered plenty of light to see by, it gave no warmth. The trees cast deep shadows and there were things moving about in the gloom.

"Even if she's a fake, she's still right!" Anomen sat on the pile of rocks wearily. His sword lay on its side. At least he was not moving to pick it up again. "An unholy rage burns through my veins and I daresay it takes no special powers to see it."

"No, it doesn't, but you _are_ a good person my friend," Yoshimo said sincerely. "And that is why you don't belong in the Order."

Anomen put his head into his hands and his shoulders began to shake. There was no room left to sit with him on the rock, so they squatted uncomfortably either side. Their arms supported his back. The cleric flinched a little, and Yoshimo suspected that for all his bluster about wenches, the man was not used to any kind of physical contact outside the context of violence.

Two figures emerged from the bushes. Jaheira and Viconia had dressed and caught up with them. At once, Anomen wiped his eyes discretely, and turned his face away. It was clear that he did not want them to see that he'd been crying and under the cover of darkness he got away with it. They hovered awkwardly, not clear what the situation was, but trying to avoid making it any worse.

"When we first met, you told Keldorn that you thought I had the potential for a great destiny," Anomen laughed bitterly. "Great destiny! Bah! So much for that!"

"Anomen," Arowan began carefully, "What you have to understand about that is..."

As she had with Keldorn and Yoshimo, she began to relay the story of how she had become involved with the Servant of all Faiths. She paused when she reached the part about Ur-Gothoz's plan. In the demonic visions, Anomen had been helping Dorn and his master by casting Detect Evil, albeit under some sort of duress. Telling Anomen this risked making him even more unstable, but it was a chance she decided to take. He had a right to know.

"All the more reason I should end this now!" Anomen cried when she had finished her tale.

"No!" Arowan insisted. "In the vision I saw that you, at least, were resisting. I believe if you die, the Great Evil will only find another to replace you. Supposing it picks somebody like Keldorn? Then there is no hope!"

She was starting to shiver, they all were, and were huddled to Anomen as much for warmth as for comfort now. He was not pulling away from them though, which was something. The shadows were moving closer, but would not come out into the light. Yoshimo tapped her arm urgently, but she shook her head. They were nothing but scavengers, waiting for them to go away so that they could eat the carcasses of the creatures Anomen had slain.

"_You_ never cared much for the Order, that was obvious," Anomen spat at her.

"And with better reason than I realised!" Arowan insisted, forcefully. "Do you know how Keldorn reacted when I told him about the burning city, after you failed your test? He was pleased! He described razing an entire settlement to the ground as you 'making something of your life after all!'"

Viconia swore in drow. She and Arowan rarely spoke if they didn't need to, and though she was the one the prophecies centred on, this was the first time she had heard about Ur-Gothoz' plans first-hand.

"In the last vision Ur-Gothoz showed me, they were going to kill pregnant women," the ranger went on, "Because they were evil. When those babies die and the orphaned children starve to death in the ruins of their burning city, the Order will call it a job well done."

Viconia felt as though something cold and slimy had slunk down her throat and was now writhing in her stomach. She'd always had a weakness for babies. It was her hesitation to sacrifice one that had earned her Lolth's wrath, and despite four husbands she had never had children of her own, knowing that in Menzoberranzan she might be forced to slay them one day or watch them kill each other.

"Keldorn said he hoped my heart charred to powder," Viconia reminded her fellow cleric. "And I had done nothing to him. I have committed no crime on the surface, save against those who would have harmed me first."

"Not _successfully_ anyway," Arowan reminded her under her breath. Viconia's lip curled in response. "Anomen, you can still do spells, I've seen you in combat. Helm has not abandoned you!"

"What does that matter now?" he moaned miserably. "I never wanted to be a cleric, I only did it to gain a foothold in the Order. It was all for nothing."

"What if it's not all for nothing?" Yoshimo asked him. "What if the gods put you here, to meet Viconia, and then released you from the Order just in time to come with us? Maybe this is exactly where you're supposed to be."

"Before she died, the Hero of Baldur's Gate herself pledged her sword to Viconia's service," Jaheira spoke for the first time. "So don't tell me that she's not worth yours."

Anomen's jaw set. He seemed to have come to some sort of decision. Shrugging off Arowan and Yoshimo he picked up his fallen sword. Sensing an opportunity to gain a new protector, Viconia stepped forward, back straight and head high. She had seen enough of the Order's pompous rituals to expect the chivalrous gesture that was about to be forthcoming, and to know broadly how to receive it.

"All my life, I desired nothing more than to join the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart, and fight against the kind of evil my father perpetuated," he seethed. "Only to learn that one of their leaders supports genocide at the instigation of a demon! Verily, I do not belong in the Order, and consider myself well rid of them. I hereby pledge my life and my sword to the Lady Viconia, Servant of all Faiths."

He offered his sword to Viconia, hilt first. The moon glinted from its blade, silver like her hair, as her fingers clasped about it. Arowan was reminded uneasily of Dorn offering her his own sword, but Viconia was struck by no prophetic vision of doom. Instead, she returned the sword to Anomen, with a triumphant smile, and he rose to his feet with a new purpose in life.

Arowan could only hope that Viconia would not let him down as the Order had done.

* * *

* * *

"Cor blimey, you all shoulda seen our Ma this afternoon," gushed the little boy, admiring his new leather boots. They were too big, to allow for 'growing room,' but some shoes were better than none. "She was on fire!"

"Nice work Jenny," grinned her husband, counting the remaining gold coins.

"Oi! It's Kveroslava when we're in town!" the fortune teller yapped in a far less exotic accent. "I gots to stay in character."

They were eating richly in the wagon that night. Fifty gold coins for a single day's work. Even with the genies in town and prices so high, that much gold was still good for new clothes for the children and a fat slab of mutton. They each sat with a huge chunk which they were eating off of bread plates to soak up the juices. The little boy licked his fingers, then wiped them on his new pants.

"The look on that stuck up ranger's face when you mentioned Dorn Il-Khan!" he laughed. Then he looked thoughtful. "Do you reckon it's all true Ma? That Servant of all Faiths stuff?"

"True?" barked Kveroslava, cuffing him about the ear. "Have I taught you nothing, boy? I don't care two straws whether it's true! I didn't lose three hours of my life talking to that miserable, moping monk just to learn about some prophecy that doesn't affect me. I did it so that when his pals from the Sun Soul Order come looking for him, I'd know stuff about them for their reading."

"Then this gaggle of foolish tramps showed up and yer clever mum fleeced them as well. Double prizes!" her husband grinned, biting down on one of the gold coins. He lifted his brimming tankard in celebration. "Here's to monks and their big, whiny mouths. Here's to Rasaad yn Bashir, the founder of the feast!"


	13. Trust

The party returned to their rooms in Trademeet, although a watch was discretely arranged to ensure that Anomen did not sneak off again. As soon as the cleric started snoring, Yoshimo hid his sword under a pile of clothes before going to sleep himself. Anomen was not deceiving them, however. His decision to embrace his new life was a sincere one.

Outside, town lanterns were casting their warm orange glow over the marbled streets. It was a welcoming picture that belied the cold. Little moved within the city walls, save for the clopping of hooves for nighttime deliveries, and the occasional ruffle of feathers from roosting pigeons on the rooftops. A light drizzle began to tapper against the windows.

As the candles in the party's rooms were snuffed out, unbeknownst to them, the inn was being watched.

"Unbelievable! Those humans came after us?" whispered one. "What were they thinking? They must have a death wish."

"Hsss, there are more of them this time Rejiek," replied his partner, Darsidian. "Are you sure that they recognized you?"

Rejiek pulled uncomfortably at his new flesh, and curly ginger locks. He disliked wearing female suits. Most skin dancers left their genders behind them, along with their original flesh and their names, but Rejiek was not like most skin dancers. He considered himself an artist and a craftsman, with a strong sense of identity before he was turned. Decades later, he clung to it still, choosing when he could skins that were as closely matched as possible to his original body. Darsidian did not approve.

"The ranger was distracted, but I think… yes… probably," Rejiek hissed. He puckered his too loose lips and made a sucking noise through his teeth. "It would be most inconvenient to have to move again. We are running low on gold."

"We have plenty of gold of one sort," Darsidian observed archly. "If we can find the right buyer."

"Don't be a fool!" Rejiek hissed. "Just because I cannot locate the Exile to return his coat to him, does not mean we can simply sell it. He is a wizard of incalculable power. Perhaps we could hide from him, but I would spend the rest of my existence shivering in terror in case he ever found us out. I tell you, it is not worth it! I'll reserve this item for him for the next century if I must."

"Suit yourself," sneered Darsidian, "But it's not like you to be cowed by some petty human."

Rejiek looked about him edgily, as though expecting Irenicus to emerge from behind any corner. Then he leaned in with his feminine form and lowered his voice.

"The Exile is no common human. He is a sadist even by the standards of our people," Rejiek replied. "When he first brought me his commission, I refused it. I don't work in fur. So he introduced me to Frennedan, a doppelganger he kept prisoner in that complex of his."

Darsidian made a hissing sound. Skin dancers viewed humans in much the same way as most people view cattle. Doppelgangers on the other hand were creatures much more like themselves and therefore worthy of some respect. For a human to imprison one was, in Darsidian's view, a grotesque distortion of the natural order. What Irenicus had _done _to Frennedan during his time in captivity, was beyond anything that even the skin dancer could have imagined. As Rejiek relayed the details, his fellow monster grew rather quiet. He picked up a lock of Rejiek's ginger hair and began twirling it round and round his long, slender fingers. By the time the tanner had told the tale in full, the pair of them were in full agreement. Irenicus must never be crossed.

"He forced this Frennedan to look like her all the time?" Darsidian shivered in disgust. "Even though he already had clones? Perverted, narrow-minded creatures, to take such obsession with one physical form."

His eyes darted sideways at Rejiek. The tanner ignored him. He was well aware of the disdain with which others of his race viewed him, for clinging to the trappings of his old life. His gender, his name and as far as possible even his form.

"This is why I hate fleshlings," Rejiek sighed. He looked up at the window where Arowan had just pinched her light out. "What shall we do with these ones?"

"I think I have an idea of how to deal with them," Darsidian said slowly. "If we can get one on their own and turn them, then we can pick off the rest one by one."

* * *

* * *

Next morning, Jaheira's party were welcomed enthusiastically by the High Merchant of Trademeet, who put them to work rapidly just as Keldorn had promised. For some reason, Yoshimo had them up at the crack of dawn to complete the tasks. The others could not account for his newfound dedication to duty but by the evening of the first day, their purses were a great deal heavier. They had replaced a Shadow Druid who had taken over leadership of the local grove, and dispatched a rakshasa (Arowan needed some convincing to agree to this) thereby persuading the invading genies to leave.

The High Merchant could not believe his good fortune, and the party were rewarded accordingly. An artist was even brought in to take their likenesses so that a statue of them might be erected at the local fountain. This got Anomen's new start off on the right foot. The prospect of having his heroism displayed so prominently in a town frequented by the Order cheered him up immensely.

"I should dearly like to see those stuffy old coots' faces when they come to the market square and see my image towering over them," he laughed.

"Is advertising my presence in this manner really necessary?" grumbled Viconia.

"And you will make the most beautiful statue of them all," Anomen gushed. Viconia smiled indulgently.

"I think Mum has some competition," Arowan whispered in Yoshimo's ear, but to her surprise, he did not laugh.

Their thief was certainly in a very odd mood. He insisted on posing for the artist first, then slipped away discretely. On the pretext of answering a call of nature, Arowan followed him at a distance. To her surprise, he headed straight to the market to sell his share of the treasure. Between their rewards for solving the druid problem and persuading the genies to leave, it was a small fortune. Yet Yoshimo seemed disappointed. Distressed even. She frowned, and went back to the others before he spotted her.

Meanwhile Yoshimo hurried to his room to count the gold. It came to four thousand, five hundred gold pieces. It was more than he had ever owned in his life at any one time, but still fell far short of the fifteen thousand demanded by Bodhi.

If he ran out of time the geas would kill him, but this was a rich city and there was still daylight left. He shoved the gold into a large burlap sack, and hurriedly returned to the party. Soon he was back, cajoling the others into taking on yet more quests.

"Come my friends, there is daylight left, yes?" he cried. He was smiling at them, but Arowan thought she detected something strained behind his smile. So did Jaheira. The druid had never entirely trusted Yoshimo, and her eyes were narrowing suspiciously.

"How long does this male intend to crack the whip at our backs?" Viconia snapped. "I say we rest now."

"Agreed," Jaheira said imperiously. "We have achieved more than enough for a single day's work. Plenty to satisfy the Order certainly."

"Nothing satisfies the Order," Anomen spat bitterly.

"Stand still!" commanded the dwarven artist who was sketching his likeness.

She had taken longer on Anomen than any of the others. They all got the distinct impression that she was drawing more images of the handsome young cleric than was strictly necessary. Anomen straightened up, resuming his most noble pose, and the artist beamed in approval from under her thick ruby beard.

"Oooh I can't wait to carve your body," she gushed. "I might make a copy for myself too."

Arowan winced. Though doing so was likely to fuel Anomen's misapprehension that she was attracted to him, it was not for the reason he thought. She had first encountered this dwarf, Margoff, in Thunderhammer's smithy back in Beregost. How she had ended up as a sculptor in Trademeet was unclear, but perhaps Thunderhammer's was another business fallen victim to the iron crisis.

Whatever the reason, Arowan hoped that Margoff did not recognise her. If she did, her statue was likely to end up unflattering.

"There is too much left of the day for Yoshimo to spend in a tavern," the thief gabbled, anxiously. "Sir Keldorn mentioned that someone had been found skinned on the road. If nobody has any objection, I will look into that."

"Yoshimo!" Arowan laughed, perplexed at his sudden dedication to carrying out the Order's will. "We can do that tomorrow, together. Stay and have a drink with us."

He was tempted. Sorely tempted. Being around her seemed to lift his darkest moods. Indeed, he was having more fun in her company than he had in the rest of his adult life. Which at the moment was a problem. He had allowed himself to become distracted with dancing, and seagulls and enchanted pantaloons. With cooking with her, walking with her and long conversations.

Five nights had passed since Bodhi had instructed him to obtain fifteen thousand gold in a week. He had two more sleeps. At sundown on the last day, he was a dead man. What's more, he still needed time to return to Athkatla, which meant he only had until noon the next day to obtain the actual money.

He hurried away, obviously agitated. The ranger watched him go anxiously.

"No doubt your male is paying a visit to the courtesans we saw outside of the city," Viconia suggested, spitefully.

She raised her fingers to Arowan's cheek, tracing them over a three-line scar that ran from her jaw and diagonally up her face. They were the drow's own work. She had scratched her during one of their fights, and owing to the wartime scarcity of healing spells and potions, the mark had been allowed to scar.

"I doubt it," Arowan replied stonily.

"What happened between you and the moon child?" she pressed, pushing her bottom lip out in mock sympathy.

"You were locked in that jail too. You know what happened," snapped the ranger. "And before you get too bleeding smug about it, _he left you in there too."_

Viconia withdrew her hand as though Arowan had burned her. It was true. Rasaad had left her there, had barely even acknowledged her, and it hurt the cleric more than she cared to admit. She tossed back her silver hair and smiled conceitedly at the human. Comparing her beauty to Arowan's was like comparing a tiger to a paperclip.

"You know I often wondered why Rasaad chose you over me," Viconia sneered. "Haven't you?"

"Not recently," Arowan replied, truthfully. She had given the monk very little thought of late. Yet to the cleric, the subject was like a scab that she could not resist picking.

"Do you want to know what I think?" the Sharran asked, sticking out her chest and swishing her hair to emphasise the difference between them. Her rival, who had long since lost interest in being her rival, rolled her eyes.

"Not particularly," she replied, resigned to the fact that she was going to hear it regardless.

"I think it's because I am a follower of Shar," Viconia went on. "Breaking the celibacy rules was betraying his goddess enough, never mind with someone like me. He only wanted _you _because you're such a feeble-minded do-gooder that the Moon Maiden might find you a less objectionable sex toy."

"Enough!" Jaheira barked angrily, but Arowan wasn't going to rise to it. Not over Rasaad. Why bother?

"I got over Rasaad a long time ago," she said. "I'd advise you to do the same."

Something about the Ilmatari's way of taking the moral high ground made Viconia want to rip out her sanctimonious tongue. It was not in her own interest to bait Arowan in this way. It never had been really, and yet she had found herself unable to resist it ever since they had first met.

She'd had numerous enemies over the years, rivalries and even the occasional nemesis. Yet she'd always dealt with other such adversaries strategically. Courting and bootlicking where necessary. Placating them where she had to, using them when she could, and only striking when it was tactically prudent to do so. With the ranger it was different. She just couldn't restrain herself for more than a few days at a time, even when her survival depended on it.

Since freeing the other woman from the pyre, Arowan had been biting her tongue a lot. It was imperative that she find a way to get on with the Servant of all Faiths. Yet the Sharran had a way of getting under her skin, and the next jibe finally made her snap and retaliate.

"I notice your eyes on our thief very often, Jaheira," the drow said with a superior smile. "He would certainly be an improvement on that stammering weakling you so generously called a man, but I don't think Arowan would appreciate having Yoshimo as a replacement father."

Jaheira began an angry retort, but her daughter beat her to it.

"Irenicus skinned Freya alive, then turned her flayed fur into a coat," Arowan began in a soft, poisonous tone.

"Why would you say that?" gasped Viconia, shocked. It had nothing to do with what they had been talking about. It was as if the ranger had simply blurted out the nastiest thing she could think of to say, without worrying about context.

Anomen, who had been trying to ignore the conversation and stand still, gave up all pretence and turned around. It didn't matter. The dwarf sculptor lowered her sketchpad and turned to stare at the women too, mouth hanging open slightly.

"Just picture that for a moment," Arowan went on, to the dumbstruck drow. "Your big, loyal, fluffy dog reduced to a bleeding mass of muscle and sinew. Shivering all over, petrified, hopeless but definitely aware. Her grey eyes were darting about in all directions trying to make sense of what the hell just happened."

Viconia blinked her scarlet eyes and took a step backward. Anomen and Jaheira had seen Arowan fully numbed, so to them this sort of brutal talk did not come as a complete shock. To the Sharran however, who thought she knew her enemy, it caught her so completely off-guard that it took her a minute to formulate a response.

"What exactly did Irenicus do to you?" she asked, fighting to keep her voice neutral. "You've changed."

"You can act as callously as you like, but we both know the truth," Arowan went on, ignoring her. "There are a few people in the world you care about apart from yourself, despite what you want us all to believe. I think Freya was one of them. Khalid… Dad… the man you are mocking. He died because he ran a sword through her skinless neck and put your friend out of her misery."

"Am I supposed to be grateful?" Viconia asked stiffly.

"Yes."

Arowan's dark eyes locked with hers. So strong was their mutual contempt that it was actually very rare for the two of them to make direct eye contact. They hadn't in a very long time. As they did, the ranger found her chest boiling over with an irrational, overpowering hatred. Viconia, meanwhile felt as though an electric bolt had zapped through her body. Flight or fight instincts began pounding through her.

_END HER!_

The ranger gasped suddenly, and wrenched her gaze away. Viconia backed up uncomfortably. Arowan looked from Jaheira to Anomen, afraid that the others had somehow read her mind. Because she had wanted Viconia gone. Not just gone from the group, but destroyed utterly. It was not a way any Ilmatari was ever supposed to feel. What's more, she felt sure that Viconia was experiencing the same thing.

"We are all on the same side," Arowan said through gritted teeth. She was trying to convince herself of this more than Viconia. "How are we meant to prevent the prophecy if we're too busy fighting amongst ourselves?"

"Well said!" Jaheira agreed imperiously. She, at least, did not seem to have noticed that anything was terribly wrong. "Although, I still have my reservations about Yoshimo. Where is he going? Why was he wandering around free in Irenicus' dungeon? Why is he behaving so strangely?"

"I'll go and check it out," the ranger said. She risked a glance at Viconia. The surge of violent loathing had subsided, but the unnerving memory of it remained. "You stay here."

As she left to find Yoshimo, Jaheira followed and pulled her to one side. Arowan feared that the druid had somehow sensed the toxic feelings corroding her heart. It was not Viconia the druid wanted to speak to her about however, but Yoshimo.

"Arowan, I beg you to listen to me," Jaheira whispered. "I know you are fond of Yoshimo, but I have been watching him these six months past. He slips away to meet people in secret, he writes letters in code. He is frequently on edge for no apparent reason and he flinches every time Irenicus' name is mentioned. There is something going on with him, I feel sure of it. I don't trust him!"

"But I do," replied Arowan, in a concrete tone. "And I need _you_ to trust _me_."

Jaheira sighed. She did not much like the way Rasaad had treated her daughter, and had not been sorry to see their relationship end. Yet she feared Yoshimo's arrival in her life might be a case of leaping from the frying pan into the fire. The thief made her ailing ward happy, and for that she was willing to overlook a great deal. But she feared that betrayal was inevitable.

"Very well," the druid said solemnly. "For now."


	14. Grave Events

Yoshimo was in trouble. As they left Margoff's studio, he headed one way and the rest of the party the other. Suddenly there was a pounding of feet behind him, and two flustered aristocrats appeared on either side. A man and a woman, richly garbed.

The man bowed. He was dressed in silks and wore several chunky golden chains about his neck, glinting with rubies. He was clearly extremely wealthy, even by the standards of Trademeet. Naturally, given his current predicament, this got the thief's attention.

"Brave Hero of Trademeet," the man began breathlessly, "Let me introduce myself. I am Lord Skarmaen Alibakkar."

"And I am Lady Lilith Lurraxol," the woman added in a steely voice. Lady Lurraxol took hold of Yoshimo's arm possessively. She had a sunken, shrivelled frame but wore a flamboyant, feathered coat studded with twinkling gems. It gave the impression of a wet bird.

"We need you to settle a dispute for us," Lord Alibakkar said in an oily, unctuous voice. "You see, my ancestors were the founders of Trademeet, but this… trash with cash peasant and her family have been slanderously trying to claim that title for themselves."

"This single-bodied human pustule is lying!" Lady Lurraxol replied. Her skin sagged so heavily about her face that it looked as if it might drop off her. Yoshimo recoiled his arm slightly, but she was undeniably wealthy and he badly needed the cash.

"What do you require from Yoshimo my good woman?" he asked.

"There is an artefact, the Mantle of Waukeen, that would settle the matter once and for all," she purred. "It will have the coat of arms of the town founder hallmarked into the gold. The only difficulty is that it is in a tomb guarded by skeletons. Nobody has touched it for centuries."

A few skeletons were standard adventuring stuff and should pose no issue. Yoshimo agreed to take the job, and Lady Lurraxol handed him a big, steel key. They led him into a graveyard to the north of the town. It was nothing like as sprawling and intimidating as the one in Athkatla, nor so badly haunted. There were scarcely two dozen headstones in the small courtyard, all of which were weathered and very old.

Lord Alibakkar pointed out the tomb with a thin-lipped smile. His tongue flopped loosely over his teeth. The thief tried to hide his disgust. Generations of aristocratic inbreeding produced some peculiar specimens and no mistake.

Drawing his katana, he cautiously approached the tomb, slipped the key into the lock and turned it. Then he stood back ready in case skeletons came bursting out. None did, so he carefully opened the door a fraction.

"Get on with it!" Lady Lurraxol hissed from behind him.

There was no sound nor movement from inside. Yoshimo took a deep breath and wrenched the tomb open the rest of the way. A dusty waft of stale air greeted him, but nothing else. He stepped in, raising a lantern to see by, though there was scarcely any need.

This tomb was little larger than a washroom, with a stone sarcophagus lying in the centre. It was plain, unadorned and covered in a layer of dust. For the founding father of a great trading house it seemed strangely modest. There was no sign of the guarding skeletons. He scanned the room, feeling the walls for hidden doors and traps, but there was nothing. The grave seemed to be exactly as it appeared.

Carefully, he placed his katana by his feet, braced both hands over the lid of the sarcophagus and heaved. It was not easy to move and he had to struggle for some time just to shift it enough to peek in through a corner. He held his lantern to the gap he had made and looked within.

Inside lay an old, inanimate skeleton. Not the undead kind. Just a regular and very ancient collection of bones, long since picked clean by worms. There were the cloth fragments of the clothes it had been buried in and a small silver ring on its finger. No sign of any mantle.

"I think you have the wrong tomb my friends!" Yoshimo called back, leaning in. "There's nothing in here."

"Oh no, we have the right one," a snakelike voice spoke, very close to him.

Yoshimo jumped in alarm, but it was only Lord Alibakkar. He had lifted the katana from the ground and was fingering the blade thoughtfully. Something about his manner made the thief uneasy. He held out his hand for the weapon.

"Forgive me my good man," he said, attempting humour, "One does not finger another man's katana without prior consent."

"You should not have followed us here fleshling," said Lord Alibakkar, not handing the weapon back. "You were wise to run first time around. This time you will not be granted that opportunity."

"Followed?" Yoshimo asked nonplussed. Then the meaning of the sagging skins and hissing voices sunk in and he realised with a jolt of terror who it was he was talking to. "Rejiek? Rejiek! There has been a misunderstanding my friend."

Darsidian, in Lady Lurraxol's skin, seized his arms and stretched him out over the tomb. Each of the skin dancer's arms were as strong as a boa constrictor. Yoshimo squirmed helplessly as Rejiek began slicing loose his leathers with his own katana. He bucked and kicked frantically at Rejiek's torso, but it was like pummelling stone.

"STOP!" Yoshimo screamed. "We are not hunting you, I swear it! We only came because…"

"Because why, foolish human?"

"Because Irenicus sent us!" a voice declared boldly from the entrance to the tomb.

Both skin dancer's heads jerked up. Yoshimo was still pinned down by his arms but he strained to lift his head and see. Arowan was standing there, but she was alone.

"The Exile sent _you_?" Darsidian said softly. "Do you seriously expect us to believe that? After you interrupted our work last time? Delaying _his _commission?"

"That was a… a mistake!" Arowan said. She was maintaining her commanding tone, but Yoshimo could tell that she was doing some quick thinking. "We had no idea that you were working for him too. Our master has punished us for the error, most severely."

"I have some insight into the Exile's punishments," replied Rejiek, though he was slowly lowering the katana and Darsidian was loosening his grip. "Had he punished you severely, you would not be standing here."

Arowan was floundering, so Yoshimo interjected from the table.

"The legendary skills of the Great Yoshimo are rare, and not to be flung aside in haste my friends," he gasped. "So our master has generously granted us the opportunity to rectify our transgression!"

"Then why are you here fleshling?" Rejiek sneered. His long fingers twitched as though he were itching to start peeling his skin with them. Instinctively, Yoshimo tried to flatten himself into the tombstone away from them.

"Because…" Arowan began. Rejiek was smiling. Behind him, Darsidian's grip tightened on Yoshimo. She had tried her best, but they were not falling for it. The thief closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Run Arowan! Save yourself!" Yoshimo cried.

"No running," hissed Darsidian. "We could wear these heroes of Trademeet for a while. What do you think Rejiek? The boy for you, the girl for me? Let's skin them quick!"

"Skins!" Arowan echoed. She drew herself up to her full height and said as commandingly as she could; "We are here to retrieve the skin! The Exile sent us to collect Freya's fur."

Rejiek froze suddenly looking doubtful. He and Darsidian exchanged a look.

"I don't believe her," Darsidian hissed. "We should kill them both just in case."

"Kill us?" Arowan cried, in feigned outrage. "You mean to tell me that it is your intent to _steal _the coat from our master? Do you have any concept of the fate that awaits those who attempt to rob Irenicus?"

Rejiek and Darsidian exchanged fretful looks. The very fact that these two knew about the fur, and who owned it, suggested that they were telling the truth.

"What do we do?" Rejiek hissed, panicking.

"Let's test them," replied Darsidian, who was the more cunning of the two. "Tell us, what was the payment supposed to be for this commission? What did your master promise us?"

This question did not pose the lying humans the challenge that he imagined it would. They had both spent a long time in the lair of Irenicus and knew full well that the mage had no need to pay them anything. Nor, they had noted from the way he treated the duergar and the things in tanks, did he bother rewarding his followers even when he had made promises.

Arowan burst out into the coldest, numbest laugh she could summon. From the stone slab, Yoshimo followed her lead and laughed with her.

"I do not know what you were 'promised,' creature," Arowan replied with a rigid grin, "But your actual reward is that you get to go free and not find yourselves as guests in his compound. Have you been inside it? We have. Trust me, not having to go in there yourselves is a more generous deal than you think. I'd take it if I were you."

"They know there was no payment!" Rejiek blustered. "For hell's sake Darsidian, give them the coat! He'll kill us!"

"Kill you? I doubt it," Arowan went on coldly. She was imitating herself on numbing potions, well aware of how unnerving people found it. It was even unsettling Yoshimo, who knew that she was only acting. "Only if you are very lucky. More likely he'll take the skin of one of his mistresses' less cooperative clones and make you putter around her room wearing it…"

"Doesn't he already have one of those?" Yoshimo asked conversationally, trying to ignore the threatening way the lamp light glinted on his katana. "Or was that a doppelganger?"

"They know about Frennedan!" Rejiek whimpered, his voice rising.

"Does he already have one? Oh. Well in that case he'll probably just dissect you," Arowan shrugged.

At this the tanner began wailing hysterically. Darsidian dropped Yoshimo, who hastily got to his feet and began retying his leathers. Both skin dancers were finally convinced that the pair really were working for Irenicus (which in Yoshimo's case was technically true) and they led them to the Lurraxol estate.

"What is this?" bellowed one of the guards. "Lord Alibakkar? What is he doing here?"

"We have put aside out differences! Out of our way!" Darsidian screamed at the shocked doorman with Lady Lurraxol's lips.

It was an ostentatious house, that reminded Arowan of the Ducal Palace in Baldur's Gate. Gold filigree adorned the bannister and crushed velvet curtains hung from high ceilings. It was smaller than the palace, however. Too small for the crystal chandeliers hanging above them and the grand fireplace which was so large that, were it to be filled and lit, would probably burn the place to ashes.

The skin dancers pelted up the stairs and returned shortly with a soft, weighty package, which Darsidian half-threw at them from the top of the steps.

"Just take the wretched thing!" Rejiek howled. "Take it to the Exile with our compliments, miserable fleshlings, and leave us alone!"

"What do we do?" whispered Yoshimo, "We can't let them flee again. They skinned at least three more people that we know about since last time!"

"The Exile wishes to speak to you!" Arowan called up the stairs to the skin dancers. Rejiek actually whimpered. "He will come to Trademeet when he has taken care of some other business. Do not go anywhere. He will be… displeased… if he has to waste time hunting for you."

They stumbled out of the house and walked away calmly, in case the skin dancers were watching them, only breaking into a run when they had rounded the corner. The pair did not stop until they reached the offices of the High Merchant.

Their panicked pleas for assistance did not entirely fit with their heroic image, but he was too biased in their favour to notice. He told them they were wise not to kill the heads of Trademeet's two leading houses themselves, for that might have left them open to a murder charge.

Horns were sounded and runners sent to gather the local hunters and warriors. Jaheira's party were roused from the inn. It was not long before an angry mob bearing torches, led by the city guards, were descending on the Lurraxol estate.

"You have Freya's fur?" Jaheira demanded.

"Yes," replied Arowan stiffly. Then, feeling she'd better check, she peeled back the wrapping a fraction. There it gleamed, golden and beautiful. "Yes."

Before the drow could prevent it, a high-pitched noise escaped Viconia's throat. She had known, she had been told, about Freya's fate. Yet it was only now, seeing that familiar, unique fur with her own eyes, that it truly sunk in. What was left of her party leader was now a morbid coat, which presumably somebody somewhere intended to wear.

In obedience to a lifetime in drow society, she immediately channelled her fear and loss into violent rage. Since coming to the surface she had feared mobs, (expecting one day to fall victim to one) but this time she pushed her way to the front to get to the tailor who had created this abomination.

"Bury it in the woods," Jaheira commanded, eyeing the package with a repulsed expression. "Let nature reclaim it.

"Yes Mum," Arowan agreed. The druid turned away and followed the others to the estate where the skin dancers were hiding.

"Fuckin' 'ell," grumbled the door guard. "I knew something was up when Lady Lurraxol said she'd put aside her differences with Lord Alibakkar. The real Lord and Lady would never do that. I bet they're still fighting it out in the afterlife."

Arowan and Yoshimo watched from a distance as the two skin dancers were dragged from the house. Their stolen skins were partially tugged from them to prove that they were not who they claimed to be, and they were driven to the market square to be burned. Darsidian was glaring around at the fleshlings defiantly, while Rejiek was screaming and pleading, but neither had any impact on the mood of the townsfolk. For once, the Ilmatari had not the slightest inclination to ask for clemency.

She and Yoshimo were holding hands. Arowan could not remember whether she had taken his or he had taken hers, but they were gripping each other very tightly.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "If you had not come after me, Yoshimo would be a mere memory."

"A _legend _surely, not a memory?" Arowan teased weakly. He pulled her a little closer to him, and she wrapped her arms about his waist. Then she looked up and said seriously; "The coat."

A conflicted look crossed the thief's face.

"I am glad the skin dancers no longer walk free, but part of me wishes we'd never found them," he whispered urgently. "What do you imagine Irenicus will do, if he ever finds out we crossed him like this? Now we must sacrifice our own necks so that what's left of Freya can have a burial! If it were up to me, I'd send this pelt straight back to Athkatla. Let the Hero of Baldur's Gate have the same dignity in death that she gave Tamoko!"

"I agree," Arowan replied quietly.

Yoshimo blinked in surprise. She took his hand again and led him away from the crowd, who were enthusiastically constructing a large bonfire. The marketplace was a mosaic depiction of Waukeen's face, and it occurred to Arowan that the fire might melt it. She was not inclined to point this out, however. The sooner Rejiek and Darsidian were destroyed, the better.

Instead of the woods, she was leading him back to the Inn. It was eerily quiet. Everyone had gone to watch the burnings. She poured herself a large wine from the abandoned bar, feeling that she desperately needed it. Yoshimo took a weak ale. He was not out of danger yet. The fifteen thousand gold still needed to be found, and this exhausting adventure had not earned him a copper penny. Now was not the time to get drunk.

"I agree," Arowan repeated, taking a deep gulp to calm her nerves. "Not the part about Freya deserving to have her remains defiled… but we need to bring this coat back to Bodhi. Freya is dead. The fur has no practical use that I can see, they can't use it to harm anybody. They're just playing sadistic games. It isn't worth the risk of them finding out. I say we _pretend_ to bury the coat, and then sneak the cursed thing back in one of our packs."

"You are right of course," sighed Yoshimo, running his fingers through his long black hair. "If Irenicus finds out…"

"_When _he finds out," corrected Arowan. "Sooner or later he'll come looking for the coat. Right now, those skin dancers are being executed very publicly. They slew the leading nobles of Trademeet. I doubt he and Bodhi would even need to travel to learn about their deaths, the town criers will be screaming about it from every street corner in Athkatla! And when they come here to investigate the fate of their precious fur, what will they find that is being constructed over the fountain right at this very moment?"

"Life-size marble statues of us," groaned Yoshimo. "Oh gods. We're dead."

"If we bury that fur coat in the dirt and ruin it, definitely," said Arowan, steeling herself. "If we give it back to them unharmed… maybe not."

She drained the rest of her glass, feeling a pleasant, tingling alcoholic numbness soak through her. Her hand reached for another, but Yoshimo moved the bottle away pointedly.

"Do not swap one numbing potion for another, sweet girl," he sighed. She took a step toward him, and he wrapped her up in his arms, burying his face into the top of her hair.

"It's just…" Arowan said shakily, "It's a fine line between pretending to be Irenicus' agent and actually being his agent. Taking him this fur back is helping him. I mean we don't have any real choice, and it's helping him with something that doesn't _really _matter… but is it crossing a line?"

"I have no issue with this particular task in its own right," he confessed, burying his fingers into her hair for comfort. "Freya killed my sister without a second thought and left her corpse where it fell. If they want to wear her pelt as a trophy, that is fine by me. But I hate to see you compromised."

"It's a bit late for that don't you think?" Arowan asked sourly. Addiction to numbing potions was about as 'compromised' as a person could get. "Come on. We'd better dig a fake grave in case Viconia decides to visit it." She kissed his cheek, very close to the edge of his mouth. "It's not your fault that I'm caught up in this Yoshimo. Don't blame yourself."

"It is my fault that I am though," he replied, cursing himself. He tugged fruitlessly at the geas ring, but it wasn't going to dislodge. "I am his agent, and by helping me, you almost are too."

"Yoshi, in a sense I'm his agent just by being alive," Arowan sighed. "And by getting clean of the numbing potions. The truth is, that the most noble thing I could do to thwart Irenicus' plans would be to take a sword into the woods and pull an Anomen."

"No!" cried Yoshimo.

"Don't worry, I haven't the least intention of actually doing that," Arowan said dryly, "The point I'm making is that every choice we make from this point on is between the lesser of two evils. I'm not Eric. I'm not willing to do anything to save my own skin. There are a great many lines I won't cross." She looked at the golden pelt regretfully. "But this isn't one of them. Sorry sister."

They shoved the package into the burlap sack with Yoshimo's gold, then set out into the woods to dig an empty grave for Freya. Even from this distance they could hear the screams and cheers from the town that told them Rejiek and his partner were no more. They dug a deep hole, one that would require effort to inspect for content. It was not a wasted effort, for the unmarked mound of earth had many visitors that day.

Arowan scratched the name 'Freya' into the ground with a stick. Being semi-literate, the letters were wonky and misshapen, and she made no attempt to write an epitaph. The rest of the party joined them once Rejiek and Darsidian were dispatched. The mood was sombre.

"Khalid was worth a hundred of you," Jaheira addressed the mound of earth. "Would that I could have returned you to nature myself. Blasted woman."

With those short words, the druid marched away. Arowan bit her lip, for it had been Imoen and not Freya who had struck the killing blow. It was not wholly the pink-haired girl's fault. She knew, though, that in the unlikely event that they ever saw Imoen again, the chimera's life would be forfeit if Jaheira discovered the truth.

"I wish to be alone," Viconia declared, her eyes stinging. "Begone rivvil!"

They returned to the inn, leaving Viconia in the wood. She sat by Freya's grave for a long time, saying nothing. It was not the drow way to mourn, or make a show of grief. Indeed, a drow funeral was the opportunity to celebrate the purging from society of a weak member, and to rejoice in the vicious judgement of the Spider Queen.

Finally Viconia pulled something from her pack. It was a mace. Not an enchanted or special one. It was unlikely that anyone would bother stealing it, though it did not really matter if they did. Using her fingers to scrape aside some of the loose soil, she buried it hilt up to mark the spot like a tombstone. The mace was a joke that few living people would understand. One which was vulgar and entirely inappropriate. Freya would have loved it.

She was choosing to remember Freya's barking, raucous laugh. The one that used to scare birds from the trees. Not the horrific image of the werewolf's final moments that Arowan had planted in her mind. The drow smiled, and began to scratch a holy symbol into the mud. Then she paused. Her goddess was Shar, but Freya had been a Selunite. The two were mortal enemies.

"I am the Servant of _all _Faiths though, aren't I?" she whispered. She glanced guiltily into the shadows. Then within the double-ringed circle of Shar, she added another symbol. A pair of eyes surrounded by stars.

As she walked slowly back toward Trademeet, a third visitor to the grave stepped out from the trees. He watched until Viconia was out of sight and then turned his bald head to the sad little hump of soil.

Rasaad had been hiding in the town from his own Order, but the Heroes of Trademeet had made such an impact it was impossible not to learn of their presence. While everyone else was distracted with the skin dancers, he had followed the party into the wood, intending to ask them for help.

Before he could approach them, however, they had begun to talk about Freya. Molten lead seemed to fill his stomach as he realised why they were there. The Hero of Baldur's Gate, his friend, was dead.

"A new light shines in the darkness," he said heavily, addressing the grave. "You will be missed my friend."

He looked at the symbol Viconia had drawn and his first instinct was to brush away the circles of Shar. But then his stomach gave a little jolt. The eyes were uneven, and she had got the number of stars wrong (eight instead of seven) but unmistakably the drow had attempted to draw the sign of Selune. The monk grimaced at the hybrid symbol, but he left it alone.

It was then that the early evening moon came out from behind a cloud and caught the mace handle. His dark eyes widened, first in shock and then amusement, as he realised what it was. Anyone else's grave and this would have been a horrendous thing to do, but as a tribute to the Bitch of Baldur's Gate it was oddly fitting.

Selunites had strict rituals and funeral rites for their own, but these had already been ninety percent violated. Besides, Freya hadn't been a shining example of her faith in life, and it was a little late to start now. He returned to Trademeet, hood covering his face, and purchased the strongest bottle of spirits he could find. The sort with a pickled grub floating in it.

Rasaad had half an eye on Jaheira's party who were eating their evening meal at a table in the corner. Fish and rice in a pale creamy sauce. They'd all grown rather sick of the Order's daily barrage of roast dinners, and this made a welcome change. He did not recognise the two men, but Arowan was talking very animatedly to one of them. A Kara-Turan man with a pierced eyebrow and long ponytail.

So much time had passed since their last meeting. Since then he had barely had time to wonder what had become of Arowan. She had escaped from Baldur's Gate, he knew that much, but Alorgoth had occupied his every waking thought. Now they were here, and he badly needed their assistance, but he was not at all sure how their reunion was going to go.

Rasaad did not wish to interrupt their meal, and besides, he wanted to say goodbye to Freya properly. They had been friends, and though he'd had a long time to accept the fact that she was probably dead, he had not known for certain until now. He was so preoccupied with making sure that Jaheira's group did not see him, that he did not notice two Selunites lurking at a table in the shadows.

The monks, a man and a woman, followed him out. He set off back to the wood, carrying the bottle of liquor with him.

When he found Freya's grave as he had left it, he uncorked the drink and poured every last drop over the mace. It felt odd to be doing it, given that he had spent so much of the last year trying to persuade the werewolf to drink _less. _Still, that hardly mattered now.

"One for the road my friend," he said bleakly, before tossing the bottle aside and heading back to the tavern.

The monks waited until he was out of sight, then slipped out of the shadows to examine the grave. As the woman knelt down, squinting at the dirt in the failing light, she gasped.

"What is it Treya?" asked the man, urgently. The woman peered more closely at the letters Arowan had scratched poorly into the ground and relaxed.

"Nothing, I… For a moment I thought it was my name… But that is an 'F' not a 'T.'"

"Freya," the man said grimly, stroking a tattooed hand over his shaven head. "So, it is true then? The Hero of Baldur's Gate is dead."

"So it would seem. Perhaps that is for the best. She was a mixed blessing to our sect," Treya sighed, making the sign of Selune. "But let us turn our attention to the living. Look at this mark, brother. It is the symbol of Selune, set within the rings of Shar!"

"Both goddesses as one, this must be a signature of the Twofold heretics!" the man gasped. "This is all the proof we need, sister. Rasaad has abandoned the Sun Soul for them. We must confront him!"

"Indeed brother but do not jump to conclusions," Treya nodded hesitantly. "I do not think Rasaad drew this himself. Look! Whoever did this does not know how many stars Selune's symbol is supposed to have."

"Well they got the rings of Shar precisely," snapped the second monk. "And if Rasaad has allied himself with a Dark Moon heretic, that is even worse!"

"We shall talk to him and have the truth of it," Treya assured him. "But if it turns out that he truly has fallen away, I would not wish to be the one to break it to Sixscar."


	15. Thief

The marketplace of Trademeet was strewn with ashes from yesterday's fire, and the traders were complaining. An unpleasant stench of burnt pork had been left in its wake and the soot kept blowing over their goods. It had, as Arowan had predicted, warped Waukeen's pretty mosaic face but since the goddess had vanished a long time ago divine retribution seemed unlikely. Yoshimo glanced furtively about the stalls, his burlap sack digging heavily into his shoulder.

It seemed to have grown even weightier since the early hours of the morning, but he put that down to the added burden of remorse. As the others slept, he had risen and filled it using the coin of his own party, then crept back to bed until dawn. This was not the way he would have wanted to collect Bodhi's fifteen thousand, but time was up, and he had run out of other options. There was no way he could carry this back to Athkatla in time. If he tried, the party could easily overtake him on the road, for it was heavy and would slow him down. He needed a horse. Unfortunately acquiring one was proving easier said than done.

"Riding for Athkatla you say?" a broad, jocular merchant boomed in his face.

"Shhh!" Yoshimo tried to hush him urgently.

"You're too late I'm afraid," the man went on in a stage whisper that was not really any quieter than before. "A young lady bought my spare filly just moments before you got here and I need the other two for my cart."

"Do you have any idea where I might find one in a hurry?" Yoshimo pleaded.

The man pursed his lips and scratched his short beard with a large, bejewelled hand.

"Livestock market 'aint till next Tuesday. I'm assuming that's too late?" he grunted. The thief nodded, hand tightening guiltily over the burlap sack. "Then I reckon your best bet is the Lurraxol estate. The late lady's nephew won't be back to claim it for a few weeks. Might be you can talk one of the servants into selling you a horse from her stables if you slip them a little something extra."

Yoshimo nodded gratefully, but no sooner had he turned around, than he ran into a seething Jaheira. There was a savage glint in her pale eyes. Her staff was directed straight at the tip of his nose. It towered over her braided hair by a comfortable foot, and made the druid seem taller than her actual height.

"I knew it!" she rasped.

The market shoppers squealed and scattered as vines ripped up from the mosaic tiles and entangled themselves about Yoshimo's legs. Anomen, his face flushed with fury, grasped the thief about the torso from behind, while Viconia tried to rip the burlap sack from his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" cried Yoshimo, feigning confusion. "Where is Arowan?"

"Never mind Arowan!" Jaheira snapped. Her daughter had mentioned something about restocking her fire arrows, and left just after breakfast. Yoshimo had gone soon after, and that was when they had returned to their rooms to find themselves each poorer by exactly two thousand, six hundred and twenty-five gold pieces. "We're going to take the gold back. Tell us why you were stealing it, we at least deserve an explanation."

Viconia tugged at the sack again, but his grip tightened. He could not let them look inside it, for it was not merely gold that he was taking back to Bodhi. Freya's furry hide was also tucked in there, not buried in the woods like they all thought. Once they discovered the gruesome coat, they'd know for certain who he was working for. An unfortunate aspect of the geas was that it prevented him from telling anyone who didn't already know about it. There was nothing he could say in his own defence and Arowan was not present to speak for him. He'd be slaughtered in the market square just like Rejiek and Darsidian.

"May I be of assistance?"

The drow paused her efforts to prise the bag from Yoshimo's hand, for she could not believe her ears. She dropped the thief and straightened up, pushing her long silvery hair back self-consciously. Suddenly she felt rather flustered. It was Rasaad.

He had changed since the last time they had seen each other. The rivvil male looked larger, as though he had intensified his training regime, but he also seemed rather drawn and tired. The swirling facial tattoos were not the only black circles beneath his eyes these days. Her eyes were drawn to his exposed shins, where dragon-fire scars from their last adventure had settled to a dark, cracked brown.

"Rasaad!" her voice came out somewhat high pitched.

"You are Rasaad?" Yoshimo stopped struggling against the vines and looked up curiously at his competition. Not that it made a difference now. He had stolen from Arowan and would not expect her to forgive him for that. Though she might persuade the others to let him live, if only he could keep them talking until her return.

The monk was not at all what the thief had been expecting, with his flashing dark eyes and stern jaw. From Arowan's disparaging descriptions he had expected someone as weak in body as she seemed to think him in mind. This man, at least in the physical sense, was anything but flimsy.

From what the ranger had said, he was reasonably confident that she would never take this man back, whether she had another attachment or not. Yet taking in the huge muscles and handsome tattooed face, Yoshimo was starting to get an inkling of why she had tolerated his shenanigans for as long as she had.

"Indeed, Rasaad yn Bashir," the monk confirmed coldly. "And you are?"

"Yoshimo, at your service," the thief grinned disarmingly. "I would bow, but as you can see I am a little tied up at present. A simple misunderstanding, I assure you. Anomen, if you would be so kind as to release me…"

"No chance!" growled the cleric, tightening his grip.

"Rasaad!" cried a woman from the crowd that was forming around them. Rasaad gritted his teeth in irritation. "Brother, wait, we must speak with you!"

Treya and her fellow Sun Soul monk were pushing through the onlookers. They stopped short when they saw Viconia. The man was much smaller than Rasaad in his monk's robes, and though hardly out of shape, this one clearly meditated more and trained less. He gasped and pointed at the drow.

"A cleric of Shar!" he cried, horrified. "I knew it. I knew it!"

"Brother, sister, I must ask that you desist in your pursuit of me," Rasaad said testily. "I have no desire to harm you."

"We only seek to know if you have truly fallen away," Treya beseeched him.

"You risk injury if you come any closer, my misguided friend," Rasaad sighed.

Viconia was supposed to be retrieving their gold from the burlap sack, but for the moment she entirely forgot about Yoshimo. This was far more intriguing than Arowan's petty thief. The moralizing monk was actually threatening members of his own sect! Was it possible that she had been more successful in luring him into the shadows than she had realised? She leaned forward eagerly.

"Tell us the truth brother!" snapped the male monk. "We grow tired of your games!"

"He seems more popular with the lady monks than the men, yes?" Yoshimo turned his head to whisper to Anomen. "Why do you suppose that might be?"

Anomen smirked and snorted with laughter. Then he remembered that Yoshimo had just stolen from them all and was no longer his friend. His expression hardened and he shoved the other man painfully in the small of the back.

Both of the weaker monks adopted fighting stances. The market crowd mumbled appreciatively at this free entertainment, though nobody took bets. This match was a foregone conclusion, and sure enough, within seconds Rasaad had laid them both out.

This earned him a small round of applause, Viconia's being the most enthusiastic. She was beaming at him, and itching to know what had brought about this welcome change in loyalties.

"Apologies, it was a mistake to approach you so openly," Rasaad whispered. "Until later."

To Viconia's intense disappointment, he bowed and disappeared into the throng in a few quick strides. He hadn't even finished the Selunites off! The rivvil pair were still lying on the ground, groaning and twitching. It was Yoshimo, however, who was to bear the brunt of her disgruntlement.

She turned back to the task at hand with fresh venom. Yoshimo still refused to drop the sack, so she removed her holy symbol from around her neck, and slipped the concentric rings about his fingers. Jaheira's lips thinned as they heard his bones crack. She was not in the least surprised that Shar's symbol doubled as a makeshift torture device.

His fingers broken, Yoshimo had no option but to drop the bag. In desperation, he elbowed Anomen in the groin and tried to run as the other man doubled over. Jaheira's vines were not about to release him, however. They snaked about his ankles and brought him crashing down, before writhing over his body and holding him flat. The thief cried out in agony as his mutilated hand hit the ground. Anomen staggered to his feet and raised his sword.

"Wait!" cried Jaheira.

She was kneeling by the burlap sack, which was wide open. Viconia was peering in too, in dismay. With a distracted flick of her fingers, the druid recalled her vines and Yoshimo sat up panting.

"Now what?" grimaced Anomen, who was still in considerable pain. He limped forward, clutching his stricken crotch. A wave of titters rippled through the watching people, and he forced himself to stand to attention.

"He… he hasn't got our gold!" Jaheira frowned in confusion. "There's nothing in this sack but rocks and… and a letter."

"See?" said Yoshimo, brushing himself off. He attempted to appear relaxed, but his insides were churning. On the one hand he had escaped immediate death, but on the other he no longer had the gold. He tried to keep calm. "Why is it that when something goes missing, everyone assumes it was the thief?"

Jaheira healed his broken fingers, then pulled out a small scroll from the sack of stones and opened it. As she read, or tried to, the line between her eyes deepened.

"What? What is it?" asked Viconia.

"Presumably it is for me, since it was in my bag," pointed out Yoshimo, rising to his feet and plucking it gently from the druid's hands. It was, indeed, near illegible. Arowan could barely read, never mind write. She had no concept of spelling and her letters were large, unpractised print. It read like a seven-year-old, but as he studied it, tracing his fingers about the words, the meaning became clear. "Oh no. No, no, no…"

"What?" Jaheira asked urgently. "What does it say?"

Yoshimo glanced about him. They were still being watched, and at his feet the monks were moaning softly and blinking their eyes. He led his party away, past the fountain where their images were being erected. Margoff was working from her sketches with the aid of enchanted chisels. She winked at Anomen as he passed.

The cleric paused to admire his statue and he was pleased with what he saw. The dwarf sculptor could hardly have made it more flattering and the name at his half-carved feet was large and obvious. It was him at his most heroic; proud, handsome and in the most prominent position of the group. Whenever knights from the Order passed this way, they couldn't possibly miss it. Anomen savoured this thought for a moment, before Jaheira's hand seized his arm and dragged him away.

Hurriedly, Yoshimo led them to the graveyard where the skin dancers had lured him. None of those tombstones had been recent and he was confident that they would not be overheard by any mourners. They had little time to waste, but it was important that they not be overheard.

As Sir Keldorn had rightly recognized, people were afraid of numbing potion addicts. If the inhabitants of Trademeet found out that one of their heroes was one, it was hard to predict how they'd take it.

"Arowan apologises for stealing the gold," said Yoshimo, swallowing. "She is riding back to Athkatla at this very moment to take it to a contact in the Copper Coronet who has offered to supply her with…"

"No!" Jaheira breathed.

"…numbing potions."

"We have to get after her!" the druid screamed at once. Her voice echoed eerily about the untended cemetery.

"She robbed me?" Viconia gasped. "_SHE ROBBED ME?_ That little c-"

Her fist slammed down on an overgrown tombstone, sending bugs scattering from the ivy covering it. When she lifted her hand, it was covered in slimy moss. She wrinkled her nose and sidled over to Anomen. On the pretext of cosying up to her protector, she wiped the moss onto his back.

"The lost gold is the least of our problems you short-sighted mole woman!" Jaheira rounded on her. "Do you have any concept of how dangerous numbing potions are?"

"She seemed harmless enough last time," Anomen shrugged.

"Last time she only wanted to rescue Khalid and I from the complex and prevent Ur-Gothoz's vision from coming true," Jaheira snapped. "She'll have formed new goals and priorities since then! The gods alone know what she'll do this time around!"

Yoshimo's heart sunk like a stone. Up until this moment his main concern had been that he no longer had the gold to pay Bodhi. Now his earlier conversation with Arowan was coming back to him. She had described returning the coat to Irenicus as 'acting as his agent.' What if _that _was the aim she now pursued with the same single-minded determination with which she'd dragged her father's decaying corpse to the surface?

Or, almost as bad, what if her new goal was to _not _be Irenicus' agent. Arowan was not the Hero of Baldur's Gate. She was no stronger than your average veteran guard. Taking the Exile on would mean her swift and certain capture.

"I am sorry Yoshimo," Jaheira said. "When I heard that you were buying a horse, I assumed that you meant to ride off with our gold, but it seems she took more from you than any of us. Were you about to ride after her?"

"Yes," lied Yoshimo guiltily. His next words, however, were truthful. "I still must, if I can find a horse. I have many contacts among the less savoury elements of Athkatla. I believe I can find her mystery dealer faster than anyone else."

"Here, take what remains of my gold," Jaheira said urgently. "The rest of us will have to follow on foot. If you can't stop her buying those potions, whatever you do at least don't let her swallow any."

Yoshimo nodded, took the gold and headed for the Lurraxol estate. There was no time to haggle for a horse, if he was to prevent Arowan from drinking those potions in time. To his regret, he was forced to threaten the stable boy with his katana, but he left five times what the animal was worth before galloping away.

* * *

* * *

As the rest of the party were about to leave, the shadow of a large man fell over the gravestones.

Rasaad was a mild and polite person, bordering on shy. Yet with his vast size and the tattoos swirling about his face, he could be intimidating when he was angry. And right now, he was shaking with rage. The last time Viconia had seen him so incensed he had started a fight with Minsc that had almost ended with casualties.

"Did I hear that correctly?" he asked, voice trembling. "Arowan saw what those potions did to my brother. She saw what they did to her own brother too. Are you telling me, that knowing that, she allowed Irenicus to force them on her?"

Jaheira nodded stiffly. Rasaad let out an animal-like scream of wrath.

"How could she do this to me?" He howled, in despair. Those potions had not only resulted in the death of Gamaz, but they had first turned him into a monster. An unrecognizable sadist who had tortured and mutilated animals and people. They had turned him from Selune to Shar. Rasaad had been forced to kill him.

For Arowan to take them was the ultimate betrayal. His brother, the person he had loved most in the world, had fallen that way. Now the woman who had been his best friend and lover had allowed the same thing to happen to her.

Only it hadn't _just happened_ to her. Never one to waste an opportunity, Viconia tried to keep the glee from her voice as she replied.

"Nobody forced Arowan to take your brother's numbing potions," she said silkily. "She did that all on her own."

Rasaad froze in shock, unable to believe his own ears. On the long walk back to Athkatla, he would need to have the events that had unfolded since Dragonspear explained to him over and over before it all fully sunk in. Freya's death and Khalid's, the unexpected reappearance of Dorn Il-Khan but worse, by far worst of all, Arowan's voluntary addiction to numbing potions.

From the look on his face, one thing was immediately crystal clear to all of them. Even to Anomen, who had only just met the monk. It was that he would never, not in this life nor the next, ever forgive Arowan.

* * *

* * *

Hooves pounded up the road to Athkatla, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. The ranger had a sizable head start, but Yoshimo was the more practised rider of the two Ilmatari. What was more, he had a noblewoman's thoroughbred, not a clumping carthorse and his mount was not weighed down by fifteen thousand gold pieces.

After two hours' solid gallop, he saw her some way ahead and spurred his horse faster. This was not without discomfort, for though the road was well kept, he had not ridden any distance in some time. The back of the horse was bumpy through the saddle and his thighs were getting quite bruised.

She continued at a steady trot. Her mount was coffee-brown like her hair, and she seemed fairly relaxed. A walker on the road had to leap out of the way as Yoshimo thundered past, and he cursed the Kara-Turan loudly. This finally caught the ranger's attention. She turned, bow drawn. Yoshimo winced. He knew that at the worst of her addiction, she would have had no compunction about shooting him to get what she wanted. Yet he also knew, from having tried it, that horseback archery was extremely difficult. He didn't fancy her chances of hitting him.

As it was, she didn't bother to try. The moment she realised who it was she lowered her bow. Nor, to his astonishment, did she speed up her horse and try to outrun him. Arowan hauled on the reigns, and her horse stopped moving with a grumpy snort. She waited for him to catch up, with an amused expression, while her chocolate animal took a great chomp of grass from the side of the road and chewed it resentfully.

He drew up the reigns beside her. His own horse, a creamy pale animal with a shimmering white mane, clipped to a halt panting. It regarded Arowan's stocky brown mount with obvious disdain.

"You stole from me!" they both accused each other at once.

"I had to!" they replied in unison.

The two Ilmatari burst out laughing and drew their horses alongside each other to continue the ride to Athkatla, though Arowan's needed some prodding to persuade it to leave its patch of grass.

"I take it then, that you do not really intend to purchase numbing potions?" Yoshimo asked.

"Nah. I was taking the gold and the coat to Bodhi," Arowan replied. "I noticed mine missing this morning and I knew it wouldn't take the others long to catch on. Unlike you I've got an excuse, I'm an addict. I'll tell Jaheira that my dealer stole the gold and ran. Mum will be pissed, but she isn't going to ditch me over it."

"You were right, the others caught me," admitted Yoshimo. "I have never been more relieved in my life than when they opened that sack to find stones. Nor more terrified."

"Because the geas says you have to get them this gold?" Arowan said.

"How did you know?" the thief sighed.

"Well, not all of our gold was taken," she replied, looking rather pleased with herself, "Which suggested that whoever stole from us didn't really want to. Then I checked Jaheira's bag. Two thousand, six hundred and twenty-five gold pieces each, times four people, plus your share of the reward money comes to fifteen thousand. That's a very precise number. It made me think that the gold must have been taken for a specific purpose. I may not be able to read Yoshimo, but I can count."

"I am sorry," the thief replied, and he looked it too. "I did not have a choice."

"Neither did I," replied Arowan. It was a tense moment, but the clopping of hooves and warm snorting of the horses was oddly reassuring. "I couldn't risk Jaheira opening your pack. The stolen gold we might have been able to talk ourselves out of, but Freya's fur… if Mum had seen that she'd know for sure you were working for Irenicus. She already suspects it, but if she gets proof no amount of begging from me is going to stop her from killing you."

Viconia too, though for different reasons. She would describe Freya's death as the loss of a valuable ally, and it was true that their friendship had been built around the drow looking for a protector. She had easily manipulated Freya who was, with all due respect to the dead, an idiot. Yet Arowan did not believe Viconia's insistence that drow were incapable of forming genuine relationships. They just weren't _supposed _to. In so far as the Sharran would ever allow herself to have friends, her loyal, braindead puppy had been one. If she caught them with Freya's fur, her revenge would be violent and personal.

"Once again, I am in your debt," replied Yoshimo.

She shook her head, and reminded him of the lich, the Unseeing Eye and how patiently he had looked after her through her addiction. There was no point keeping score, or trying to work out who had done more for who. They were in a terrible mess, but at least they were in it together.

The word 'together' jolted Yoshimo's memory, and he stole a sideways glance at the ranger. She looked quite contented with her hair loose, and arms jolting up and down to the rhythm of the reigns. Like him, she had scars on her face, though hers slashed her cheek rather than her nose. Her freckles were multiplying under the summer sun. She closed her eyes, smiling slightly and enjoying the breeze on her neck.

It was a shame to spoil her good mood, but it had to be done.

"You'll never guess who we ran into in Trademeet," he said. Arowan grimaced.

"Rasaad yn Bashir?" she guessed, dryly. Yoshimo raised an eyebrow. "I bumped into him in the market place while I was buying this horse. He tried to talk to me. I was hoping if I ignored him, he'd go away."

"No, he came to talk to us," said Yoshimo.

Arowan cursed under her breath. She flicked the reigns and dug in her heels a little to speed up the horse, as though wanting to put a little extra distance between herself and her former partner.

"What did he want?" she asked, irked.

"That wasn't entirely clear," the thief replied slowly. "He was interrupted by some monks before he could get to the point. There was a scuffle in the marketplace. Rasaad won, then he said…" at this point the thief adopted a mock-mysterious voice, "'_Apologies, it was a mistake to approach you so openly. Until later_.'"

"Typical," muttered Arowan, with an irritated eyeroll. "He'd already drawn as much attention to himself as it was possible to. At that point why not just say what he wants? I suppose Viconia was pleased to see him, was she?"

Yoshimo waggled his hand to indicate 'so-so'. It was still sore from where the angry drow had ravaged it with her holy symbol. Gripping the reigns of his horse so tightly after having his fingers broken had left an ache, even with Jaheira's healing spell.

"You were not… at all happy to see him?" he asked tentatively. "Even a little?"

Arowan let out a choking noise. Her mouth contorted, she screwed her eyes shut, and for a moment it looked as though she was about to cry. The horse slowed to a meandering wander. Presently though, she took a deep breath, and when she spoke her voice was only a little wobbly.

"I'm sorry, it's stupid," she sighed. "I'd just given the merchant his money for the horse, when a man comes up behind me and says 'A- Arrow' in a Calishite accent. And I turned around with this big dopey smile. I _was _happy, so happy because… because for a split-second I thought that he was Dad."

Yoshimo nodded painfully. He understood that feeling.

"Khalid was from Calimshan and he had a stammer, see?" Arowan said sadly. "Rasaad was probably just stuttering a bit because from behind, he wasn't sure he had the right person. It's ridiculous. I don't even know why I'd think… I mean I know he's dead. I dragged his rotting body about Irenicus' complex, Ilmater help me, I _know _he's dead."

"You're not stupid," Yoshimo sighed.

"Hmm," Arowan replied, sceptically. Suddenly she seemed to notice that her horse was no longer pulling its weight and clicked her tongue at it to get moving. Yoshimo had to speed up his own to draw them level again. When he reached her, he noticed that her lashes were rather wet.

"Once, in Baldur's Gate," he began, "I caught sight of a Kara-Turan woman of just the right height and build to be Tamoko. She was walking at the other end of a busy street and my heart leapt. I thought, perhaps there had been some mistake, and the Bitch of Baldur's Gate had beheaded someone else's sister. I chased after her, but when I caught up to the woman and her friend she turned around. It was not my Tamoko, but a frightened stranger. All I could do was apologise and run away."

They rode on in silence. Soon the walls of Athkatla loomed on the horizon. Arowan turned to Yoshimo with a weak smile.

"Sorry to be such miserable company," she sighed. "The present is bad enough without dragging up the worst of the past."

"Then let us talk about the future," suggested Yoshimo. Arowan gave him a look. They both knew that there was a strong possibility of their futures turning out worse than past and present combined. "What would you do, if there was no Irenicus? If you were free to go wherever you like, money and danger no object?"

She smiled and thought about it. Her mind drifted first to the Cloud Peak mountains where she had been their ranger. They were beautiful and part of her loved them, but they had become too tainted by evil memories.

"Kuldahar," replied Arowan. "I'd go to Kuldahar."

"Where is that?" asked Yoshimo, taking a gulp of water from his gourd. Arowan smiled.

"It's a place Khalid told me about once," she said wistfully. "Back in ancient times, the gods planted a great tree in the frozen Spine of the World. It gives off heat, and is a haven for life around it. He said you can walk all day through the frozen wilds, nothing but snow and ice as far as the eye can see. Then at night you go back to the tree for a hot meal and a warm bed."

"I wouldn't mind the warm bed part," Yoshimo nodded fairly. She laughed loudly and he looked a shade abashed. "That's not what I meant."

"Isn't it?" Arowan asked lightly as they passed under the archway into the city. She caught his eye with a little bit of a grin.

He rode after her. The guard at the gate insisted on searching their bags, but adventurers with gold were encouraged to come to Athkatla to spend it, and though he admired the exceptionally fine fur coat, he did not understand its significance.

"Yer missus is letting you sell this?" he asked Yoshimo, good-naturedly. "I reckon mine would insist on keeping it for herself. Try it on, mi'lady! Why not?"

"Erm… no. That won't be necessary," Arowan replied, turning a little green. "It already has an owner. Just… just wrap it up and put it back in the sack please."

"Suit yerself ma'am," the guard replied, rolling it up carefully and popping it on top of the gold. "Who is it for?"

"I think we'd all be happier not knowing the answer to that," she replied repressively. "Excuse us."

They made haste through the city, for no doubt the local muggers took a particular interest in the bag searches at the gates. As they reached the pile of rubble that marked the entrance to Irenicus' compound, their horses grew restless and uneasy.

"Oh, fucking hell," whispered Arowan, dismounting.

"I'll take it," Yoshimo volunteered, though he too looked pale at the sight of their tormentor's lair. "There's a tradesman's entrance for when he's bringing in… goods… that he doesn't want the public to see. You see those two Inns? Don't go to the Seven Veils, it's a cesspit and the owner is a shrew. The Mithrest has stables. Book us a room there and I'll meet you when I'm done."

"I'll book a room," she said anxiously. "But I see a Temple of Ilmater right next to it. If you don't mind, I'll wait for you there."

Yoshimo nodded, heart pounding and hands clammy. He was about to walk away when he suddenly felt the breath squeezed from him, he was being held so tightly. Arowan was hugging him, her head buried into his chest. He could feel her shaking with fear, and though he was scarcely less apprehensive himself, knowing that she cared made him feel braver.

"It's going to be fine," he said. "I was ordered to keep you alive and safe, remember? Rejiek was going to skin you. Irenicus cannot fault us for killing him."

"No sane person could," Arowan replied. They both looked at the rubble, holding onto each other tightly, each thinking the same thing. Irenicus' and Bodhi's sanities were questionable. There was no guarantee that they would respond rationally.

Yoshimo wasn't sure which of them had moved first, but before he knew what was happening, he was kissing her. It was a terrible idea for a world of reasons. The geas, the numbing potions, her enormous ex-boyfriend and the very real possibility that he would not be walking out of that complex alive. Yet it was far too late. He was already in love, and he was sure, from the heated press of her mouth on his, that she felt the same.

"Get a room!" somebody hollered at them, and they broke apart.

"I er… I should probably do that," she mumbled, looking up at him with brown eyes full of worry. "Get the room, I mean."

"I'll be alright," Yoshimo reassured her, though he was far from convinced of this himself. "See you soon."

He took the bag containing the gold and the Freya-coat and slipped down the side alley, toward the entrance where Irenicus brought in his prisoners. He tried not to think about where he was going. Instead he allowed his mind to wander to the pleasant distraction of wondering whether Arowan meant to book them one room or two.


	16. Phylactery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's note: As my regular readers already know, timelines are my huge writing-bugbear. I've spotted a major plot flaw in the Bitch of Baldur's Gate. I put Amelyssan down as being Freya's mother because, as a comedy Mary-Sue, she would naturally have the most powerful and significant origin story available. In contrast with Arowan, whose mother was the tea lady.
> 
> Unfortunately, for Amelyssan to be pregnant with Freya before Maire's marriage, she'd need to be time travelling Minsc-Style. The current Duke Silvershield is twice Freya's age and Maire is, minimum, Skie's great-grandmother. Anyway… normally I try to avoid making retrospective plot edits but this one is such a doozy that I'll have to fix it before writing Throne of Bhaal. Upshot being, Amelyssan is no longer Freya's mother. Luckily this doesn't affect the longer story arc.
> 
> As for the priestesses' ages, Madele was artificially kept alive by the Cyric priests (that part, at least, is canon). Amelyssan is just old. Because magic! :P

* * *

* * *

"You some brass balls are having, to be coming back here."

Yoshimo loitered nervously on the ramp leading down to the complex. The svirfneblin had not invited him to come in any further, to which the thief raised no objection. It was a long tunnel, two carts wide, for Irenicus had brought some large equipment in through the back door.

"Not brass balls, friend, golden fur," he replied, shivering. "Come my diminutive gatekeeper, you glare at me as though I am a wild xvart descended into your midst. Tell me, what have I done to earn such suspicion?"

"A spy you are being," the svirfneblin said, picking his nose with a broad finger. "Your own friends you are betraying. If you'd turn on them, you'd turn on us. Stands to reason."

"I wish only to return to the master some of his… property… that has fallen into my possession," Yoshimo said delicately.

The svirfneblin extracted his finger with a loud pop, and pointed the greasy digit at the floor. He was a sour looking creature and all alone. Normally door duty would be the duergars' job, but a great number of Irenicus' staff had been slain when Bubbles let the Shadow Thieves into the complex. Most of his duergar were dead. Though six months had passed, Irenicus had not yet bothered to replace them.

"Alas, good gnome, I cannot leave my parcel here," the thief shook his head. "Some explanation will be required as to how I came to obtain this item. And, with the greatest of respect, it is too valuable to deliver to any hands but his or Bodhi's."

"If that precious it is being, maybe taking it I am," the svirfneblin grinned, straightening his helmet and raising his axe. It was a battered weapon, one that had seen a lot of combat. "Rude thief who calls me a gnome, dying he is. Reward from master I is getting for myself."

Yoshimo drew his katana in a flash of steel. He stepped back sharply and readied himself, as the svirfneblin hefted his axe eagerly, ready for a fight.

"The only reward that the bearer of this particular treasure might be granted is his life. And only if he is lucky," Yoshimo said. The svirfneblin roared and swung his axe in a double-handed stroke that packed more power than he was able to parry. He dodged as the weapon clanged into the stone ramp, then stepped onto the handle.

Gnomes of all races are strong in the arm, and this opponent was no exception. With a great heave, he managed to swing the weapon upward with Yoshimo on it. The thief used this as a springboard to leap over the svirfneblin's astonished head. He somersaulted, and landed perfectly, katana readied at the base of the ramp.

"_Why is it that whenever I'm on top fighting form, nobody is ever around to see it?" _Yoshimo thought in frustration. He was glad to have spared Arowan from having to come back here, but he would have liked her to have witnessed just that little bit of the battle.

The surviving duergar were coming. The sound of fighting had attracted their attention. The svirfneblin was charging down the ramp, so Yoshimo had no option but to flee deeper into the complex. He almost ran into the reinforcements, and found himself trapped between enemies in a dripping corridor.

As much to distract them as anything else, he pulled out the golden coat, with a flourish.

They gasped. It was dazzling, and beautiful. So soft that it looked like it might melt from his hand into a golden puddle. None of them dared to strike him while he was holding it, for they had been Freya's jailors and could tell at once what it was. Woe to the servant who ruined this priceless treasure with blood stains.

The nearest one made to snatch it from him. Like a bull fighter, Yoshimo yanked it clear of his stubby little arms. Yet there were three of them and only one of him. He wasn't going to be able to keep a hold of the coat that way for long. Putting it on might buy him more time, but he _really _didn't want to do that.

Instead he placed the tip of his katana so that it poked into the back of the coat. He held it up like a living hostage, but threatening a person would not have been nearly so effective. The duergar and svirfneblin backed off sharply.

"Now you all listen to me!" Yoshimo barked. "I'm _not supposed to have this. _Irenicus thinks that it is with his furrier in Trademeet, only his pet skindancers are dead. He's going to expect an explanation for it turning up here in Athkatla. What do you think he'll do to you when you can't provide him with one?"

The duergar looked at each other grouchily. They lowered their weapons.

"Not need like that to be being," said the svirfneblin. "Coming with us you are. Contacting the master we be. Asked he did, not to be disturbed. If angry he is being, helping you we is not."

"Don't mind Brufwuf," sighed a female duergar, as she led the way with a slouching, sulky gait. "He has a unique take on surface grammar. 'Ere, how come you talk common so well? I thought you only came to the Sword Coast a year ago?"

"Oddly enough common is my first language," Yoshimo replied distractedly. "Only language, really. I am not fluent in…"

He trailed off. They had reached a large blue portal and through it an office could be seen. Irenicus was sitting at a desk in profile. He had several lamps directed at the splayed torso of a woman. Bodhi was perched on the corner of the desk with her back to them. They did not notice Yoshimo's arrival at first. The Exile was working intently, picking pieces from the corpse with evil metal instruments. The body's extremities had been removed, which was something of a mercy, as Yoshimo would not have liked to see the face.

"I am telling you, I didn't eat her!" Bodhi hissed. "She was our own thief! Why would I?"

"You say that every time you bite somebody whom I specifically instructed you not to," Irenicus replied irately. "She was definitely killed by a vampire. My autopsy confirms it."

Bodhi squinted at her brother sourly. The two puncture wounds in her neck and unnatural lack of blood would have confirmed it, without the need for this! This post-mortem was entirely pointless, except in so far as it would intimidate the remaining Spellhold staff. Jonaleth had always been fascinated by this sort of thing, even before his exile from Suldanessellar. In the old days he had limited his experiments to animals; rodents, deer and so forth.

Ellesime had never liked it, but he had promised her that the knowledge he was gaining would enhance the healing powers of their race. Jonaleth liked to think that he had tricked her, and that his experiments were propelling him toward the Seldarine, but Bodhi knew better. She had long suspected that her brother simply enjoyed turning living creatures inside out as a hobby, like other elves tended gardens or bred ornamental fish. Any knowledge he gleaned in the process was just a bonus.

"I found the girl in the graveyard, in a tomb we had not been able to enter before," Bodhi insisted. "She must have disturbed something while she was hunting for Kangaxx!"

"Have you made any further progress on obtaining the Ring of Gaxx?" Irenicus asked. Impatience was creeping into his tone. "And what of the Shadow Thieves?"

"We have obtained Kangaxx's limbs from the Temple District sewers and his torso which was hidden in the Bridge District," Bodhi said encouragingly. "So far we have been unable to locate the head. The first two battles with the guardian liches were extremely difficult. I was dusted in the first one, and Bubbles was knocked out. Even she cannot explain our victory. We were better prepared for the second lich only…"

"Only what?" sighed Irenicus, putting down his tweezers and lifting a large corkscrew-like device.

"Bubbles believes that once reassembled, Kangaxx himself will be the most powerful of them all," Bodhi said hesitantly. "Even more so than you." Irenicus jammed the corkscrew into the torso with a squelching noise that made Yoshimo wince. The mage glared up at his sister, catching sight of the waiting thief and the duergar but paying them no regard. Bodhi went on, "Forgive me brother, but it will take all three of us to destroy him. You, me and Bubbles. You'll have to come in person."

"I am surrounded by incompetence! I do not have time for this!" Irenicus fumed. Bodhi was itching to point out that he did seem to have time to dissect dead thieves, but resisted. Her 'brother' was in one of his moods, and she had been dying enough lately. He spat at her acidly, "Very well! Do you also need me to hold your hand while you deal with the Shadow Thieves, or do you think you can manage?"

"I have placed Edwin as a spy in their guild," she replied. "There is some sort of internal politics going on between Renal Bloodscalp and Mae'Var which has the potential to turn bloody. Edwin is stoking the flames."

At this point, Brufwuf coughed politely. The wizard threw down his corkscrew, furious at the distraction and strode toward the portal. Yoshimo tasted copper as he bit his own cheek in panic. The mad wizard was already angry, even before he'd been informed of Rejiek's death. They were not off to a good start.

"I grow sick and tired of these ceaseless interruptions!" Irenicus thundered. "The next person to waste my time with trivia will pay with his life. Pray to your feeble god that your next words carry some meaning, Ilmatari. Speak!"

Yoshimo found himself quite alone in front of the portal. The duergar had flattened themselves against the walls and Brufwuf was running away as fast as his stumpy legs would carry him.

"Well," he began, lifting the golden fur coat, "Here's the thing…"

* * *

* * *

Arowan was in the Temple of Ilmater, praying fervently for Yoshimo's safety, and her god seemed to be listening. Irenicus had raised his hand to blast the thief to oblivion for turning up uninvited and without Arowan. Bodhi, however, stayed his hand. She secretly wanted to know whether Yoshimo had her gold.

"Forgive me," the thief bowed, holding the golden coat out to them, draped across his outstretched arms. "The tanner Rejiek Hidesman attempted to attack Arowan and I was obliged to intervene. We have retrieved the coat."

Irenicus softened from fury to disinterested acceptance. He waved Bodhi toward him, so that she could deal with it, and promptly returned to mutilating the body on his desk. His 'sister' slid gracefully down to the floor and slipped through the portal, joining Yoshimo in the lair in Athkatla.

"Come with me," she instructed. She glared down her nose at the duergar. "The rest of you, go away."

Yoshimo followed her deeper into the complex. There were very few duergar left, and most of the golems had been destroyed. The corpses of the shadow thieves were gone, and so were Irenicus' other victims. The library had been deprived of books. He passed rooms that had once contained horrific experiments and torture devices. Now they were stripped bare, save for the odd bloodstained table or broken tank. In some ways this was almost creepier.

The vampire led him past the dryad grove. They looked sadder and paler than ever. A duergar in a straw hat with a shovel was digging a deep trench around each tree. Apparently they were about to be relocated. Bodhi dismissed the gardener, who shuffled away grumbling to himself. While she was distracted, Yoshimo risked pulling one of the dryads' acorns from his pocket and letting them see it.

The dryads were careful to maintain their downcast expressions so that Bodhi would not grow suspicious, but as he passed them, one of them blew him a kiss. Those acorns spelled freedom for them, and Yoshimo decided that before they did anything else, the party had to go to the Windspear Hills and plant them. He was being led to the Mistresses bedroom, only it no longer contained a bed. All of her things had been carried away and the place was empty, save for a large silver mirror set into the wall.

"You'll have to forgive the décor, my brother is moving premises," Bodhi remarked lightly.

"I see he left the traps," Yoshimo remarked warily, looking about him. "I have your coat, and your gold."

Bodhi seized the coat he had been carrying and put it on immediately. It was a perfect fit, and had clearly been tailored just for her. It went in and out in all the right places, and it was obvious to an adventurer with a trained eye that her charisma had received a substantial boost.

It would be a splendid garment, were it not for knowing where it came from. The owner of the golden pantaloons would have vomited with envy. Bodhi turned this way and that, admiring herself in Ellesime's mirror. The elf queen herself did not possess anything so fabulous in her wardrobe.

"You have done well," she smiled, her eyes twinkling greedily. She draped herself over the thief, lifting one leg over his hip and running both hands through his hair.

She was still wearing the coat. Yoshimo had hated Freya with all his being, yet even he was having trouble keeping his food down. The nasty artefact was brushing against him. It was so indescribably soft that part of him felt the urge to stroke it, and that made him feel even more nauseated.

"We have your gold too!" he said hastily, by way of distraction. He pushed the bag into her arms, nudging her back slightly in the process. Bodhi was too thrilled to notice.

She seized the pack and opened it. The glint of treasure caught in her dark eyes and she smiled, a feline smile.

"I owe you an apology little human," Bodhi said blithely. "I have been telling people that Clara is our best thief, but I see now that I was wrong." Then something occurred to her and she scowled. "What do you mean _'we.'_"

"Pardon?"

"You said 'we have your gold.' That's the second time you said 'we.' Who is 'we?'" she asked, snaking toward him. "Your geas forbade you to tell anyone that you are working for us."

"Arowan already knew," Yoshimo reminded her. There was no sense in concealing this. "Without her assistance both the coat and the gold would have been lost."

"_Arowan?_" Bodhi blinked in disbelief. "Arowan sent you here with the fur of her own sister? Arowan helped you to steal fifteen thousand gold pieces? That mousey, freckled little do-gooder?"

"Yes," replied Yoshimo.

It all sounded rather cold-blooded when Bodhi put it like that. Yet Freya was _not _Arowan's sister. Not in the sense that Tamoko was his. Ranger and werewolf had only learnt of each other's existence after leaving Candlekeep, and in their relatively short acquaintance they had not bonded. The only thing they had in common was their father, Bhaal. In fact, though Arowan resented Rasaad the most for leaving her in that jail cell, it had been Freya who had put her in it in the first place. In that context, her lack of loyalty was hardly surprising.

"I have marginally underestimated her," Bodhi admitted. "Perhaps she is not a mousey after all. I shall upgrade her to a 'rat.' Just like you."

"Thank you?" Yoshimo hazarded.

"Very well, you may go now," she said idly. "Your orders are the same as before. Keep Arowan alive. If I need you for anything else, I'll let you know."

"Thank you!" Yoshimo replied, and this time he meant it.

It was only now that he was being released that he realised how tight his chest had been, and how constricted his breath. He turned to leave when Bodhi added, as though remarking on the weather;

"By the way, Clara is dead."

The tight feeling returned. Clara must have been the headless woman on the table, whose death Bodhi and Irenicus had been squabbling over. Yoshimo felt as though his ribs were being crushed. He had only known Clara in passing, and had no special fondness for her. Yet as far as he knew, she was the closest thing he'd had to a colleague.

Clara was supposed to have been their best thief. Presumably that meant that they'd valued her more than him. Yet her death was nothing, not even an inconvenience. He was under no delusion that he was any less disposable. The next body being picked apart on that desk could easily be his own. The thought petrified him, which was probably the effect Bodhi had been aiming for.

Yet there was one drop of comfort that he and Arowan could draw from this trip. Bubbles had succeeded in obtaining more of Kangaxx's golden skeleton, and was now lacking only the skull. Once they had that, Eric could be brought back from the Abyss and then, Ilmater willing, Irenicus would once again lose interest in Arowan.

Yoshimo was even daring to hope that it might spell the end of his service too. They would have no further use for him at that point. The flip side of that was that if they had no further use for him, they were just as likely to kill him as let him go. Yet despite everything, he remained an optimist at heart. He had survived another day and that was something.

* * *

* * *

It was half-past-ten in the evening, and Bodhi found herself knocking on the door to Bubbles' hovel. Meeting just after sunset in a district that stank of fish lacked the romance of a midnight encounter in the graveyard, but the vampire was too excited to care. Her golden coat was hidden beneath a thick travelling cloak to avoid attracting attention as she stole through the alleyways of Athkatla.

The door swung open and she found herself face to face with Carbos. There was something not quite right about him today, but she could not pinpoint what. He held the door open politely, and she barged past, dropping the gold with a clang on the table.

Bubbles herself was in an adjoining room. There were strange gargling noises coming from within it. The door was ajar and Bodhi peered around curiously. A human, a living one so far as she could tell, was lying in an open coffin. He was dressed in full armour but his sword, shield and helmet were piled up by the door. The courtesan was standing over him muttering incantations, causing her victim to be choked by an invisible fist.

The necromancer, ever attuned to the sound of money, looked over her shoulder at the bag on the table. She released her grip on the human who sat up coughing. Bodhi waited for Bubbles to finish her victim off, but instead the man hopped out of the coffin. He was still gasping for breath, but seemed peculiarly unperturbed by his situation.

"Apologies, Ajantis, we will have to continue this later," Bubbles said. The young knight put on a helmet to hide his paunchy face and stumbled out into the night. She watched him go dispassionately.

"You still take clients?" Bodhi asked, astonished.

"On my own terms these days. Like I said before, I cater to a niche market," Bubbles replied idly. "I no longer deal with ones I have to touch myself. That young lad doesn't come to me for sex, he just has a guilt fetish. Pays me to kill him and bring him back. Over and over in different ways, if you can believe it."

"He pays you to _kill _him?" Bodhi asked, temporarily distracted. She had also had the experience of dying repeatedly, dusting, then reforming as a vampire. Mainly courtesy of Freya. She had grown accustomed to the pain, to a point. Yet she could not imagine why anybody would want to pay for the privilege of being a serial murder victim.

"A couple of years back he fell out with his lady friend," Bubbles explained. "He'd learned she was a Bhaalspawn and decided she was evil… well you know what paladins are like. Poor girl took it to heart and tried to prove she wasn't by going all heroic. Set about freeing a prisoner from a gnoll stronghold all by herself." She lifted a cup of tea to her lips before realising that Bodhi did not have one of her own. "_Shank! Manners!_ Make our guest some tea."

Bodhi did not drink tea, but since she would never have accepted anything prepared by these zombies anyway, it seemed churlish to point this out. Shank bustled over to the kettle, but knocked it over when he reached out for it. He was having difficulty judging the distance. His arms were too long for his body, and also too skinny. The vampire looked back at Carbos and it dawned on her why he had looked so wrong when she'd first come in. After their last battle, the two zombies had reassembled themselves incorrectly and were now wearing each other's arms.

"Anyway, the gnolls tore the poor lass to pieces," Bubbles sighed, wiping down the coffin with a damp rag. "And the boy can't forgive himself for it. Especially _how _she died. He changed his mind and followed her to the keep but by the time he got there it was too late. All he found was a pile of clothes and her gnawed bones. Traumatized him. All he can talk about is how much she must have suffered. About once a month he has me kill him in a new and excruciating way, then bring him back. I think he thinks he's atoning or something."

Bodhi let out a disparaging snort. It never ceased to amaze her what soppy, foolish notions people would get into their heads over love. Irenicus had wasted so much time and energy mooning over his lost feelings for Ellesime. Time that he ought to have spent finding them a cure. The elf queen was no less ridiculous herself. Her slavish adoration of Jonaleth had blinded her to the obvious for decades. Bodhi was glad that she had never been so afflicted herself.

"Shouldn't her bones have dusted if she was a Bhaalspawn?" Bodhi asked.

"Only the parts attached at the moment of death dust," Bubbles said sadly. "That's the point. The fact that her arm and leg bones were there to find meant that they must have been torn from her while she was still alive. Hence why he is having some difficulty getting over it."

"And are you saying that he just walked in here one day and requested your services?" the vampire asked, curious as to how such peculiar arrangements got started.

"Of course not," Bubbles laughed, revealing the black and brown teeth at the back of her mouth. "My research into resurrecting Bhaalspawn has led me to other libraries than your brother's. We ran across each other in the archives of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart. It turns out that he was looking up the same thing, trying to find a way to resurrect Draxle. At first, he tried to arrest me for trespassing, but then we got to talking. I keep him around. He pays well, and allows me unrestricted access to the library. Perhaps he thinks I'll bring her back at the same time as Eric."

"We did not agree to this," Bodhi hissed threateningly. She knew the name Draxle. The girl had been one of the Candlekeep Bhaalspawn, and it was her fragment of Imoen's soul that Bodhi had been promised. Bubbles raised a petite eyebrow.

"I never said I was actually going to do it," Bubbles replied. "The Ring of Gaxx has enough potency to bring back one Bhaalspawn, and I'll have to drain its power to do it. We'll only get one shot. I'm fifty-fifty whether we'll even get Eric back.

Bodhi let out a noise like steam escaping a kettle. She was risking death in the pursuit of Kangaxx. It had better not be for nothing! Bubbles seemed to guess what she was thinking and mollified her with a pat on the arm.

"I can definitely open a door to the Abyss where the Bhaalspawn souls are lurking," she said reassuringly, "That part I am certain of. It's catching the little weasel and pulling him through it that'll be the trick. You see, Eric won't want to come. Not now that he knows he'll become part of a god if he stays put. I bet he's regretting my geas as much as I am."

The possibility that Irenicus' elaborate schemes might fail refocussed Bodhi on her backup plan. She returned to the business at hand. Shank pressed a cup of tea into her cold fingers, and she jabbed it at the treasure sack.

"Here is your fifteen thousand gold, necromancer," she said silkily. "Now you honour your end of the bargain. Make me a lich."

"If you like," replied Bubbles. "I'll need a few days to go shopping and prepare some scrolls. The sacrifices are easy to arrange. There are some punters in the Bridge District who are bad to my girls. I had them marked down for death, but I saved them just for you. Unless you'd rather supply your own?"

"What would be the benefit of that?"

"Nothing," replied Bubbles flatly. "But people can get surprisingly sentimental about that sort of thing. They want their sacrifices to be special… mortal enemies or pure-hearted virgins or some other such nonsense… but in practical terms it doesn't make the blindest bit of difference. Any sentient souls will do."

"Your men will be fine. I have… other uses for my victims."

"Of course. And have you chosen a phylactery?"

Bodhi grinned wickedly. She had, and she was delighted with her choice. Her foolish brother had gifted her Freya's golden fur believing that she merely wanted it as a garment. She threw off her travelling cloak to reveal it in all its splendour. How she laughed as Bubbles' eyes widened, first in awe and then revulsion.

"You want to use _that?_" Bubbles asked, disgusted. "Well, I'll give you points for originality."

"It is not merely a gruesome revenge," Bodhi boasted, fingering the coat. "I won't lie. I lost count of how many times that cursed dog butchered me, and there is a certain…" she smiled nastily, "Poetic justice to this. But there is also a practical reason for my choice."

"And what could that possibly be?" sighed Bubbles.

"If my undead body is staked, then becoming a lich will prevent my death," she said, "But you told me that because of Ellesime's curse I will be unable to regain physical form. Is that right?"

"Probably," nodded Bubbles. "We are in uncharted territory here, but I believe that would be the case. Since under this curse your body progressively decays, it is difficult to see how you could regenerate a new one from scratch."

"I will tell my followers that in the event of my death," Bodhi purred, "They must take the coat to one Duke Silvershield in Baldur's Gate. His daughter was Freya's wife. He promised little Skie that if the Hero let her down again, he would give her this flayed fur to wear. Originally Irenicus planned to send it straight to him, but I persuaded him to give it to me instead. You will make it into my phylactery."

"I will have to disappoint you now," Bubbles said. "Lichs have made phylacteries out of swords, rings, crowns and other wearable objects. They can talk to and influence the item's owner, but the wearer still has control. And if this Skie does not like what you say, she can remove the coat at any time."

Bodhi smiled, bearing her cruel cat-like fangs.

"Oh, I think not. You see, Skie is _very_ special," she crowed. "Unique, in fact."

She drew a strange dagger and placed it on the table between them. Bubbles' gaze was drawn to a gem in the hilt in which figures were moving. The anguished face of a Rashemen woman floated into view before fading away to reveal a ballet dancer, spinning endlessly in the centre.

"By the gods," Bubbles breathed, horrified. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Soultaker," Bodhi nodded triumphantly. "All this time her poor, pathetic father has been keeping her empty body alive. What you have to understand, is that Duke Silvershield detested Freya. He only let her leave Baldur's Gate alive so that she could retrieve her wife's soul. He promised that if she failed, he would give his daughter her flayed fur as a funeral shroud. I don't think he meant it literally at the time, but it's funny how these things work out."

"What are you saying?" Bubbles asked slowly.

"I will leave instructions with my many 'friends,' you included," Bodhi said, "That if I am staked, this coat is to be taken to Duke Silvershield in Baldur's Gate, to be placed on Skie's body. A living body _without a soul. _Do you understand now?"

"Yes," replied Bubbles. There was bitterness in her voice. She hated Eric more than ever for putting her into a situation where she was forced to make alliances with creatures like Bodhi and her brother. "Yes. I see your intent."

"Imagine," Bodhi went on dreamily, "How delighted Skie's Daddy will be, when he finally wraps up his poor dead daughter for burial, and she sits up instead! You know, I have a feeling that the first thing she will do is give him a cuddle. A thank you cuddle for her pretty new coat."

Bodhi's hateful laughter rang out into the night. It would have been more impressive had they been in the graveyard and not drinking tea in a district that reeked of haddock. Bubbles looked out of her small kitchen window, up at the pale moon and made a silent vow. If the coat did ever end up in _her _hands, she would not take it to Baldur's Gate for any reward, but burn the wretched thing and scatter the ashes far out to sea.


	17. Shadows

Jaheira was leading the remainder of the party up the road to Athkatla. This time everybody stuck to the path doggedly, for a thick soup-like fog had descended, and they could see no more than a few feet in front of them. Rasaad and Jaheira were leading the group through it. He because he always walked faster, Jaheira because she wanted to learn what had become of Arowan as soon as possible.

"I am deeply saddened by the loss of your husband," Rasaad told her solemnly. "Khalid was a brave and noble man. He will be missed."

The druid had no polite response to this. Though Khalid and the monk had never exactly been enemies, her husband had disapproved of Rasaad's treatment of Arowan. Whether Rasaad was _aware _of quite how much Khalid had disliked him, Jaheira was unsure. Unlike his wife, Khalid had always chosen to lace his words with tact. So much so that between diplomacy and his stammer, the meaning was often lost.

"Now that you are caught up with our news, tell us. Where have you been all this time?" There was a distinct note of accusation in Jaheira's voice, and the monk noticed it.

"You think I should have remained in Freya's party instead of seeking Alorgoth?" Rasaad asked stiffly. "You blame me for their deaths?"

Jaheira was spared having to answer this by Viconia. In truth, she doubted that Rasaad's presence would ultimately have made much of a difference against Irenicus. Only they'd never know for sure, because he'd chosen to abandon them all in favour of his quest for vengeance.

"Yes!" Viconia replied emphatically. She shot the monk a resentful red-eyed glare. "Do you want to know how Irenicus caught Freya in the end? He cast an illusion spell over a cage to make it look like a tavern. It was the first (and probably only) time that your ability to detect traps but not disarm them might have been useful. _And you weren't there!_"

"Forgive me," he replied, hanging his head. "It was not in my heart to leave. Yet sometimes one must put aside one's heart for the greater good. I walk a new path, one I am altogether uncomfortable with. I long for the clarity of purpose I once enjoyed."

"Turning aside from the Milk Maiden is a bold first step," Viconia reassured him, almost kindly. "Soon you will find a greater clarity than you ever dreamed possible in the service of Shar."

Rasaad flinched as though she had struck him, and he turned right around on the path to stare at her. She stood with a seductive smile playing on her lips. She was framed in mist, like a succubus emerging from the smoke of hell. Normally, he went out of his way to avoid looking at her. The Sharran had been tempting him from the path of light ever since their first meeting. And the truth was, he had never been as immune to it as he'd have liked.

When they'd confronted his brother, Gamaz, in his temple, Viconia had suggested that they join him and run it together. He could have been reunited with his brother, leading a monastery, with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his bed. Rasaad _had_ been tempted. Were it not for Arowan, he was not wholly sure that he wouldn't have been swayed. It was a frightening thought.

"I would never turn to the shadows!" Rasaad replied, with more certainty than he felt. The others looked puzzled at this statement. It was hardly a vote of confidence.

"You were fighting other monks from the Sun Soul Order though," Viconia reminded him. "We saw you."

"I did not wish to fight my brethren," the monk replied tersely. "It was necessary."

"And fun?" Viconia suggested. There was a hopeful note in her voice.

Rasaad looked ahead of him into the grey cloud of fog. It was seeping into his clothes and leaving a damp, cold sheen where his skin was exposed. It felt sickly to walk through, but if he were to set out full speed, he could easily lose them in it. A tempting option, especially with a hostile Arowan waiting at the end of their journey. Yet he knew he lacked the power to take on Alorgoth alone, and who else would aid him now?

"Not at all!" he protested. Yet this was not entirely true. The Sun Soul Order expected unwavering honesty. He'd been forced to break this principle with such frequency of late, that lying was becoming a habit. There was no point fibbing again over something so trivial, so he added, "Except in Tannath's case. I regret battling my brothers, but I regret battling that self-involved dullard slightly less."

Jaheira's jaw spasmed. She was far too preoccupied with worrying about Arowan to waste her breath arguing with Rasaad. Still, she felt that for the monk to criticise anyone else for being 'self-absorbed' was, frankly, a bit rich.

"Then what is going on with you?" she snapped, "And what do you want? If you are angling to rejoin the party, I can tell you right now that my vote is going to be a solid 'no.'"

Viconia turned her ruby eyes on the half-elf and her lip curled a little. Even by the standards of other drow, she could hold onto a grudge for a very long time. Long ago, the party had voted on whether _she_ should stay or be discarded. Jaheira had voted to cast her out, and the Sharran had not forgotten it.

That said, her memory could be extremely selective. Arowan had voted to let her stay, for which she had received no brownie points. Rasaad had voted her out, but his shunning of her was entirely forgivable, because he was attractive.

"A new cult has formed," Rasaad explained seriously. "An offshoot of the Dark Moon followers. They believe that my goddess, Selune, and your goddess, Shar, are but facets of a single deity. I seek to join this new cult."

Viconia recoiled at the notion. She also felt extremely let down. After seeing his fight with the Sun Soul Order, she had been hoping that he was on his way to joining her as a fully-fledged Sharran. As it was, he seemed to be entwining himself in something even worse than his grovelling adoration of the Moon Maiden. Heresy.

"That must be an appealing notion to those accustomed to Selune's whimpering," she observed spitefully. "I take it the idea is that the followers of Selune and Shar put aside our differences and become friends? Perhaps we could paint each other's fingernails and you could weave flowers into my hair? Would that make you happy, apostate?"

"There can be no happiness for me," Rasaad said quietly. "Not since my brother Gamaz's death. All my friends have turned upon me. Not that I can blame them."

As though channelling Arowan's spirit across the miles, Jaheira rolled her eyes. His self-indulgent misery required a level of patience to tolerate that she simply did not possess.

"Some of those former friends would argue that it was _you _who turned on _them_," Jaheira pointed out sharply.

"Are we talking about my brothers and sisters in the Sun Soul Order?" Rasaad asked in a voice of forced calm. "Or about Arowan?"

"Either. Pick one."

Rasaad picked the monks. He could not bring himself to talk about Arowan. The very thought of her made him sick. Numbing potions! Of all the things she could take it into her head to do, how could she possibly drink numbing potions? When he had caught sight of her in Trademeet he had not been sure whether to expect a renewal of their friendship or the cold-shoulder. Of all the scenarios that had run through his head, nothing he had imagined had been so bad as this.

When he heard about the potions, his first instinct had been to walk away. Yet he badly needed help, and his desire to avenge Gamaz had overcome his pride as well as his morals.

"The Dark Moon heretics are led by a man calling himself Collus Darathon," he said. "I believe that Darathon is an alias of Alorgoth. His ideas spread like poison through the Sun Soul Order, but the location of their temple is a well-guarded secret."

"You mean to join the heretics in order to destroy them?" Viconia asked, suddenly interested again.

"Darathon must be stopped," Rasaad nodded. "I am convinced that he is Alorgoth, but even if he is not, his perversion of the faith cannot be allowed to continue unchallenged."

Viconia looked him up and down, her lips tight. Obviously in his obsessive pursuit of revenge, he had taken his training to a new level. He was even more muscle bound and impressive than he had been before. 'Segmented and lobster-like' is how their former-leader would have described him, but Freya would have been the first to admit that she was no expert on male attractiveness.

The journey to Dragonspear with Rasaad and Freya was the closest to happy that she could ever remember being. She'd had Baeloth to entertain her, and Edwin to torment. Arowan's presence had proven perpetually irritating, like a fly at a banquet, but now she and Rasaad were finished. Forever, it seemed. So maybe now there was a chance.

Of course, she'd have to think of a better reason than that to let him into the party.

"This Two-Fold cult is a perversion of the Dark Moon, and an insult to Shar!" Viconia declared. "For once we are agreed on something moon-calf. This blasphemy must be silenced, permanently."

"One yes and one no," sighed Rasaad. "Anomen, my noble friend?"

"I have no opinion either way," the cleric replied snobbishly. He knew that a 'yes' would alienate Jaheira and a 'no' would antagonize Viconia. So he wisely plumped for neutrality.

"Then Arowan and Yoshimo will cast the deciding votes!" Jaheira cried. "I can save you some time and embarrassment right now, monk, by telling you that she will give you your marching orders in stronger terms than I… and laid back though he is, I cannot envisage Yoshimo actively voting to bring her former lover along."

"Then I suggest we split the party," Viconia threatened. "Rasaad and I will hunt down this cult while Arowan and her new male follow whatever trivial pursuits take their fancy."

It was her trump card, and Jaheira knew it. Arowan was determined to prevent Ur-Gothoz's vision from coming true and that meant keeping the party intact. Jaheira wanted to transform into a bear and sit on Rasaad's pompous face for barging into their lives again. Yet Viconia had them over a barrel. If she could not win the vote to keep Rasaad in by numbers, then she would vote with her feet instead.

Rasaad's brow furrowed at the mention of Arowan's 'new male.' But only, Viconia noted, a very little.

* * *

* * *

**Eight Months Previously, in Baldur's Gate:**

The scritch scritching of a pen and a flickering candle were the only signs of life in the room. Otherwise, Rasaad might have mistaken Freya for dead. Heavy bags sat beneath her tired eyes. She had the look of an athlete suddenly forced into a sedentary lifestyle- and had gained a lot of weight in a very short space of time. She carried the padding rather regally. It lent her a dignified, statesman-like air. The fatigue was another matter, however. Though she had finally given up her excessive drinking, the monk had never seen her so unhealthy.

"Hullo Rasaad," the werewolf sighed wearily without looking up. She had been older than Arowan when Gorion had taken her in, but until now that had never been obvious. Commanding the Flaming Fist seemed to have visibly aged the Hero of Baldur's Gate in a matter of weeks. "I assume that you are here to enquire about the missing Selunites?"

"What have you heard?" he asked urgently.

"A body was found dumped in the sewers under the Northern Quarter," Freya replied, dipping her pen into her inkpot and writing on. "It had been badly mauled by carrion crawlers, but the tattoos marked it as one of Selune's followers."

"A man, or a woman?" Rasaad asked, trying to determine who it might have been.

"Male," replied Freya. "You can try to identify the body. It's lying in the morgue under Headquarters. I told them not to bury him until you'd had chance to take a look, but I should warn you that there is little left of the face. His chest was branded by the circles of Shar."

Rasaad slammed his fist against the wall. Freya's grey eyes flickered up briefly. The light behind them had gone out, replaced by fatigued resignation. She was loved by the people. She was Baldur's Gate's most wealthy and powerful citizen. Yet she was miserable, drained and utterly trapped. Marriage to Skie was a life sentence without parole.

"I was right then!" Rasaad cried, his broad chest heaving. "These disappearances are the work of Shar's agents."

"That is the most likely explanation," Freya replied slowly.

Her fingers brushed the golden band on her head. An intelligence boosting mantle she had retrieved from Avernus. It hadn't exactly made her smart. There was probably no artefact in Faerun that could turn_ this_ woman into a genius, but it had made her significantly less stupid.

"There is another possibility," she said. "Not everyone is comfortable with a drow occupying the position that Viconia does in our court. She is a Sharran. It may be a deliberate attempt to turn public opinion against her. Which is why we will not be making this discovery public."

She put a rather sharp emphasis on the word 'we' and looked him directly in the eye as she said it. It was clear that this was not a request. Despite their friendship, Rasaad knew that it was more than his life was worth to disobey. Though the sword at her belt was ceremonial these days, the real ones were propped in easy reach. The Hero of Baldur's Gate had always had a ruthless streak, and Skie's influence was sharpening rather than dulling it.

"But-!" Rasaad protested.

"Do you want to see Viconia poisoned or strung up by a mob?" the werewolf asked bluntly.

Rasaad's gut twisted. She was a Sharran and the answer to that question ought to be 'yes.' He ought to be one of those protesting her newfound political power. Instead he was relieved that she had found somewhere safe and secure to take up residence. Technically they were enemies, but…

"And while we're on the subject of people being strung up," Freya's barking voice cut sharply into his thoughts, "Tell your girlfriend to stop fucking around with the Blue Beards. She's going to get herself and my good mate killed."

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

Freya slammed her fist onto the desk, causing the paperwork to jump as though in alarm. The candle flickered, making deep shadows leap like devils about her stony face.

"Don't piss me around. I know damn well Arowan has joined the rebels," Freya growled dangerously. "I've had her and Coran followed."

The colour drained from Rasaad's face. Caelar's crusade and the resulting famine and flood of refugees had created a crisis in Baldur's Gate. Long standing resentment against the privilege and wealth of the aristocracy had bubbled to the surface. There were a number of factions in the city which were teetering on the edge of rebellion (including, at one point, the Flaming Fist itself) but the Blue Beards were the most vocal about it. Freya and Captain Corwin had already hanged one of them, a blue-bearded gnome from whom the group had taken their name.

More personally, Arowan and Coran had a history. Rasaad could not believe that she would be running about the city with him behind his back.

"She would have told me," Rasaad said steadfastly.

"Like you told her about how we tried to murder Dorn Il-Khan?" Freya replied.

"That was not murder, it was self-defence!" Rasaad declared. "He meant to kill Viconia!"

Freya made a sceptical growling noise in the back of her throat. A deep rumble that no human could have produced. The pen had not left her hand this whole conversation and she continued to write, but her frown line was deepening.

"We lured him to a secluded location with the specific intention of ending his life, without trial," she replied sardonically. "There's a word for that, Rasaad, it's called: murder. It would have been a justified murder, and I still fully intend to take that rancid shitehawk out if he ever comes back, but we _were _going to murder Dorn."

"I had better take a look at the monk's body before it decomposes further," Rasaad replied, through gritted teeth. "Thank you for your time."

Freya nodded without looking up, and by the time he reached the door she was once more fully immersed in her never ending paperwork. In the safety of the hallway he slammed his fist into the wall, cracking it. Nobody would notice. A combination of Freya's residence and Duke Silvershield's suffering finances meant that the palace was in poor shape anyway these days.

Arowan had not only joined the Blue Beards, after he had begged her not to, but she had been lying to him about it. Worse, she was romping about the city with Coran. He resolved to say nothing, and give her a chance to explain things herself, but that evening she chattered happily over dinner without so much as a hint that she was deceiving or keeping anything from him.

A feeling of unease was growing inside Rasaad. That evening, when he was through making love, he got up to meditate as he always did. Only this time he turned back at the door to look at her, and to his alarm, her expression was not altogether contented.

It did not occur to him that she might not _like _his getting up directly afterward and padding outside to contemplate the Moon Maiden, leaving her to fall asleep alone. As far as he was concerned their routine was perfect. Indeed, his meditations had never been so calm and distraction free. At least until tonight.


	18. Dorn's Plans go Awry

**The Circus. Waukeen's Promenade.**

"No!" squealed Kalah, dropping to his knees. His pale eyes flickered from Aerie to Quayle and finally to Dorn Il-Khan. The half-orc sneered at him pitilessly and the gnome moaned. "This is not what I was promised!"

Dorn wasn't about to let the others hear what Kalah had been promised. Before the circus gnome could utter another word, the half-orc's blade found his throat.

Their surroundings blurred and swam before them. Away melted the magnificent marble tower of this sad little illusionist's fantasy. In its place they found a worn circus tent. Some of the survivors ran away at once, others began picking their way through the bodies in search of friends.

"Ah, another job well done!" beamed Minsc. "Thanks to friend-Dorn for aiding us against this evil in need of a booting. Boo thinks that perhaps there is a shred of good in you after all!"

"Perhaps," Dorn said, in a voice that left Neera thoroughly unconvinced. At least she had managed to get through this battle without launching any random fireballs. Dorn hunkered down to rifle through the dead gnome's belongings. Aerie let out a frightened whimper and ducked behind Minsc.

"What… what a pitiful little man," she whispered, looking at Kalah with wide eyes. "People did laugh at him, but they didn't deserve to die. I… I just can't hate him, despite all he's done."

Dorn grunted, and tried to pull a ring from Kalah's still-warm finger. He seemed to know exactly what he was looking for. When it would not come off readily, the Blackguard took his blade and sawed the finger at the knuckle. Aerie gave a little sob. The noise Rancor made as it hacked off the digit sounded just like having her wings sliced off.

"Why do you suppose he did it?" she asked. "Where did he get that much power? And who promised him what?"

The Blackguard's eyes narrowed. This little witch was asking too many questions. He could feel his sword, Rancor, vibrating with Ur-Gothoz's rage. This whole operation had been clumsily handled.

Well what did his patron expect? Dorn was no schemer nor spy!

When Ur-Gothoz had learnt that Kalah possessed the Ring of Human Influence, he determined that Arowan must have it. Why, Dorn could not fathom. If he wished to use a Bhaalspawn with powers of persuasion, then he should have chosen Freya in the first place. On the march to Dragonspear he had wished with boiling frustration that Ur-Gothoz had ordered him into the other sister's party. Freya had been the sort of warrior who ran headlong at dragons, butchered her enemies without guilt and fought basilisks blindfolded. While _he_ had been stuck tending the wounded with that feeble Little Lamb, Arowan.

The ranger did have some advantages over the werewolf. Arowan had never attempted to murder him for one thing. Moreover, Freya's canine nose had left her incapable of tolerating Dorn's lack of hygiene with good grace. She had brought it up every other sentence. The Blackguard had only just learnt of her gruesome death and, suffice it to say, he had not shed any tears.

Another thing the ranger had over her dead sister was that, unlike Freya, Arowan was not stupid. She did not trust Dorn an inch, and was wise not to.

Arowan would never accept the ring if Dorn handed it to her himself, so his conniving demon master had concocted a plan to deliver it to her. First they had lured Kalah with offers of power, into taking over the circus. Then they had bribed the Cowled Wizards not to intervene. The idea was that the Order of the Radiant Heart would be called in to rescue the unfortunate circus goers. They, in turn, would delegate the task to Jaheira's party, their favoured new errand runners. She and Arowan would defeat Kalah and 'find' the ring.

That had been the plan. Only, unfortunately, Jaheira's party were out of town and the buffoon Minsc had got to the circus first.

"This is my share of the loot," Dorn said, wiping the blood from the ring onto his sleeve. "I will go now before your sugariness makes me retch, but first I have need of a favour."

Minsc would have to give the ring to Arowan now. He would, of course, tell her where it came from and the Little Lamb would refuse to wear it.

What a ridiculous waste of everybody's time this circus escapade had been. Even the enemies he had been fighting were mere illusions. As he left the tent in a smouldering temper, a foolhardy salesman waved a stick of candyfloss under his nose.

"Only two copper pieces. Try some!" the scrawny man suggested brightly. Dorn shrugged and bit down hard, bypassing the candyfloss in favour of the seller's own hand. The poor man shrieked in pain and alarm. Dorn licked the blood from his teeth thoughtfully.

"Not bad, not bad," he conceded, smacking his lips. "Does two copper pieces buy me the hand or the entire arm? I'll give you four if you roast it for me."

The man dropped his candyfloss sticks with a terrified wail and fled. To his horror, Dorn suddenly found half-a-dozen street urchins crowded around his feet. The homeless children of Athkatla were seizing the abandoned candy sticks and scuttling delightedly into the alleys of Waukeen's promenade to feast.

Dorn fingered Rancor. He was in a bad enough mood to decapitate the little brats, but even he knew that this was a bad idea in broad daylight. His master's malevolent presence pulsed through the sword's hilt.

"I don't suppose you mean to tell me _why _it is so important that Arowan wear this ring?" he muttered. Ur-Gothoz's prim and proper voice replied in his head.

_The fragment of Bhaal known as 'Arowan' lacks the charisma to persuade anyone to anything. This must change if we are to trick the elves into fighting for us._

"More schemes, more tricks," muttered Dorn resentfully.

_It is the way of demons. Do not question me, Blackguard! The ends justify the means. _

"I thought it was also the way of demons to prize unspoiled souls," Dorn grunted. "I have delivered you many of those. What use is the essence of men already corrupted?"

_Pure souls, yes… we savour them… but there is also value in numbers. My 'schemes and tricks' will bring legions of souls to my domain who otherwise belonged to the gods. An army such as the hells have never seen, all united under my banner. And you, Dorn Il-Khan, will lead that army. An eternity of power awaits. All that is required is a little patience…_

"What of the Servant of All Faiths?" Dorn demanded.

_Do you fear her?_

"I would be a fool not to," snarled Dorn quietly. "Nothing I could do would kill her. Umberlee sent her waves and Talos his lightening. Even Lolth whom she betrayed and Selune, the sworn enemy of her own goddess, came to her aid. To challenge Viconia is to challenge the gods themselves. I see no possible way to defeat her."

_It matters not. Follow my plan and we cannot lose. With the slaying of the Demon Lord Belhifet, that fool Bhaal removed the last of my competition. Even if the Servant of all Faiths should eventually triumph, we will already have the souls of Urst-Natha to bolster our ranks and many more besides. I shall rule Avernus unchallenged!_

"And if Viconia fails?"

_Then our prize shall be all the greater. I will not only have Avernus, but the numbers needed to spread my domain into the realms beyond. All seven hells, the Abyss. Who knows, perhaps even the prime? And as a bonus, that arrogant pest Bhaal will die. Permanently._

There was not another word of sense to be gleaned from the demon. His cruel laughter sang to Dorn through Rancor. Leading the armies of hell in an eternal war was a reward worth waiting for, but patience was not a quality that the half-orc held in great reserve.

For over a year Ur-Gothoz had been wetting Dorn's appetite, showing enticing visions of him standing atop vast piles of the bodies of his enemies. Not only drow but humans, orcs, fire giants and even dragons. He could not wait. Yet whenever he asked when the cull would start, the answer was always 'soon.' Never 'now.'


	19. The Charisma Ring

Yoshimo emerged from Irenicus's gloomy dungeon, blinking in the glare of Athkatla's unforgiving sun. A passing pickpocket took advantage of his temporary blindness to snatch his coin bag. He made no effort to stop him, and the other thief skittered down the alley and away with his prize. Such as it was.

"You're going to be disappointed!" the Kara-Turan heckled him good-naturedly, for the bag was entirely empty. His gem bag would have been another matter, for that was where he kept the dryads' acorns. The sooner they could see those safely planted, the better.

He took a deep breath of air. With dust stirred up from the traders' carts mixed with soot from a thousand cooking fires, it was hardly fresh. Yet compared to where he had just been, it might as well be mountain air. Already his natural optimism was papering over the memory of that lair of death.

Yoshimo tidied himself up as best he could and retied his hair on the way to the Temple of Ilmater. One of the stalls he passed had a little round mirror with a topaz frame. He paused to look in it, checking that his face was free of blood, or worse stray hairs from the Freya-coat. The store-holder, a woman whose ginger hair was on the cusp of turning grey, bustled up behind him.

"Sprucing up for the ladies are we dearie?" she teased.

"A lady. Just one," Yoshimo admitted, only slightly abashed.

"I have roses, three gold pieces a dozen," the woman offered. "You'll find that Mira is no kobold when it comes to quality and affordability!"

Sadly, she was a kobold when it came to smell. Standing outside all day wearing a full-length peasant's smock in this relentless heat had given poor Mira a cattlesque aroma. He backed up as far as he could without making it too obvious what he was doing.

"Alas, I do not have three gold pieces. Nor even one," he confessed with a twinkle in his dark eyes. "In any case, flowers can be a risky gift."

He recalled Anomen's present of a crimson rhodelia to Jaheira, a move which had resulted in her quarterstaff making sharp contact with his shins. The memory, coupled with his sheer joy at having survived, caused him to laugh out loud. It was hardly appropriate, but he was still too high on adrenaline to care.

Mira, of course, had no idea why he was laughing. She assumed that his comment was intended as some sort of mean joke about her goods, and she shuffled away muttering darkly to herself about 'ignorant foreigners.'

Suddenly she was distracted by some sort of commotion from across the promenade. Yoshimo glanced over and was pleasantly surprised to spot that the circus was in town. He had been so strained on his way to deliver the coat that it had escaped his notice. They had no gold to enter the main tent but there were plenty of animals in cages outside that were free to view. Perhaps he and Arowan could set some of the less dangerous ones loose for a laugh.

He took advantage of Mira's distraction to pocket a potion of heroism, and hurried to the Temple of Ilmater. At first he thought he must have entered the wrong building. Yet there was the sign of Ilmater wrought, for some reason, in pewter and not the usual gold.

Back in Kara-Tur, his small community had been the only Ilmatari sect within a hundred miles. Their founder, a lone missionary from the Sword Coast, had erected a great stone temple with silk cushioned pews and bright stained-glass windows. One in ten gold pieces that each member of the church earned was supposed to be donated toward maintaining and expanding it. Over the generations their temple had grown so elaborate that it became something of a tourist attraction. Non-Ilmatari were not allowed inside, of course, but from time to time curious Kara-Turan sight-seers would find a way in through invisibility potions or other means.

Whereas this place was a rancid hovel. Homeless children played on the floor, barefooted and underfed. The pews were backless and extra wide to accommodate sleeping beggars. There were a lot of them. Curling toes and hairy ankles poked out into the aisle and Mira had smelled fragrant by comparison.

He had not set foot in a temple since he left Kara-Tur. The Chapel of Ilmater in Baldur's Gate had been boarded up to quarantine a nasty outbreak of dysentery, so he had never been inside. After he entered Irenicus's service, he'd felt unable to bring himself to go to temple at all. This was the first glimpse of a traditional Ilmatari temple of Yoshimo's life. It was as different from the one he was raised going to, as a guppy is from a chicken.

"May I help you, young man?" one of the beggars asked. She had a kind, lined face and was completely emaciated. Her torn rags had been patched with even dirtier rags and, like the children, she wore no shoes.

"Forgive me I… I have no gold my friend," he stammered, looking about him in disbelief. Then he remembered himself. He was an Ilmatari in the Temple of Ilmater. He had to part with something. Hastily he removed his earrings and placed them into the beggar's grateful hands. She smiled at him kindly.

"The blessings of the Crying Lord be upon you," she said serenely. "I will trade these for some bread and see it distributed to the poor we shelter here. Are you in need of refuge yourself?"

Yoshimo did not understand. He stood there, head cocked to one side, blinking stupidly. Slowly it dawned on him that this woman offering refuge was not a beggar, but the temple priestess. He gaped in disbelief.

"_You're _the painbearer?" he cried, before he could stop himself.

The woman looked puzzled, but to Yoshimo this was unbelievable. Back home, to be a member of the Ilmatari priesthood was to reach the pinnacle of society. _He _certainly would never have been invited to train as one. Where he came from, to be an Ilmatari elder meant living in the best houses, drinking the finest wines and sitting in pride of place at banquets in robes of red and purple velvet.

"Are you feeling quite alright?" the painbearer asked, gently. "You do not appear to require my services but, of course, not all wounds can be seen."

The Kara-Turan was still staring at the woman in rags as though expecting the real painbearer to jump out from behind the altar and tell him that it was all an elaborate hoax.

"I am so confused," he admitted.

"Oh, well just sleep it off my son," she suggested with a wink. "And don't accept any more herbs from the vendors out there. They do like to take advantage of visitors from overseas."

Yoshimo was about to explain, but at that moment half a dozen beggars and children crowded around the painbearer, all scrambling for her attention. She returned to the back rooms with them all trailing behind her, like very grubby ducklings.

He followed too, and there he found Arowan polishing the little, plain glass windows with a grimy rag. She dropped it when she saw him, and threw herself into his arms, burying her face into his neck. The thief patted her hair reassuringly until she had calmed down, though he was scarcely less relieved to have escaped Bodhi in one piece.

Yoshimo helped her to finish the windows and they left the temple, hand in hand. As they walked past the pews of sleeping beggars, he continued to look about him with a baffled expression. Arowan noticed, and asked with a half-smile; "Something up?"

"What happened to this place?" he breathed, keeping his voice down in case the painbearer should hear him and take offence.

"What do you mean?" Arowan asked lightly.

"Did the temple get into debt or something?" he asked. "Where are the statues? Where are the tapestries?"

"Tapestries?!" Arowan laughed out loud. Then she saw that Yoshimo wasn't smiling. On the contrary, he seemed to be finding this quite disturbing.

With a little gentle probing, she discovered that Yoshimo's sect had a very different notion of what it meant to be an Ilmatari than the one that she was familiar with. Technically they were reading from the same texts, but they had interpreted the commandments in a radically different way. A way that sounded like it worked better for the priests, and perhaps not so well for the poor.

"So, what did they do when beggars came to the temple?" she asked him, with a slight frown.

"There was only one beggar in our whole village," Yoshimo replied with a shrug. "So all our charitable obligations were directed at him. He ended up rather more rotund than the beggars I have seen in Baldur's Gate and Athkatla, I must admit."

"What about the poor outside your village?" Arowan asked as they meandered in the general direction of the circus. She wrinkled her nose at it. Places like this tended to be infested with fortune tellers and conmen.

"We weren't really encouraged to mix with…" Yoshimo began, but he never reached the end of his sentence, for suddenly the two of them were being swept from their feet. He hollered in alarm, thinking that Bodhi had chased him outside and was going to feast on him after all.

Luckily it was only Minsc. His enthusiastic greeting squashed the air from Arowan's lungs. They had met at the Copper Coronet only a few days ago, but one would think from his joy at seeing them that they had been apart for years. Yoshimo berated himself for being so daft. Of course it couldn't have been Bodhi. It was broad daylight. Vampires couldn't walk about in the glare of the sun, even one as powerful as Bodhi.

Except standing behind Minsc was a vampire who could.

He was still accompanied by Neera (now mercifully free from feathers) and in place of his mad, distracted thief was a new recruit. She was tall, dark, beautiful and unmistakably undead.

"Er… Minsc?" ventured Arowan, who had also noticed the latest addition to his party. Minsc gave them one last, rib-cracking squeeze and put the pair of them down. "You er… you appear to have a vampire with you."

"I- I said that too!" came a tremulous voice.

Yoshimo looked down. Minsc had in fact acquired not one but two new recruits. The second was a mage so small and timorous that at first he had overlooked her entirely. She was sheltering behind Minsc's considerable bulk. He almost completely concealed her for even by elfin standards, the yellow-haired sorceress was unusually slight.

"What happened to Hexxat?" asked Arowan.

For Yoshimo, however, the penny had already dropped. He had only known Clara in passing, having occasionally run into her on the way to report to Irenicus. As with the rest of the mad wizard's servants, he had intentionally avoided engaging her in conversation. This was because most of Irenicus's followers were sadists, and the ones who weren't tended to end up dead.

The hooded, confused woman he had met in the Copper Coronet had called herself by a different name. 'Hexxat' had been so different from Clara in voice and demeanour, that Yoshimo had not registered that they were the same person.

Now it was obvious, and from the conversation he had overheard between Irenicus and his sister, Clara had been killed by a vampire. A vampire who was not Bodhi. Like Minsc's new friend.

"I am Hexxat," the vampire replied, extending her hand to Arowan. The ranger shook it cautiously. Even in the roasting sun of Athkatla it was icy cold.

"_You _ate Clara!" Yoshimo said, hand on his katana.

Hexxat conceded this truth with a nod. She seemed in no hurry to attack him, but that might change. It depended on whether she had eaten Clara because she was Bodhi's thief, or for some other unrelated reason. After all, a woman like Clara was bound to have enemies.

"If you knew Clara, then you also know that she is no great loss to the world," Hexxat said, fairly. Beside her the elf woman shivered. "If Minsc and Boo can see past my affliction, surely you can do the same?"

"Minsc may see past your 'affliction,' but I'm very surprised indeed that he can see past you eating a member of his party," Arowan muttered. "What exactly happened?"

"Boo says let us discuss this over an ale and some of those huge suspicious looking circus sausages*," Minsc boomed. "We have just had quite the adventure. The whole circus was taken over by genies, spiders and werewolves. Fighting them built up quite the appetite! Boo was also hoping to get some dessert, but the candyfloss man seems to have gone."

"You didn't need to fight them, I told you they were illusions," sighed the elf. "But Uncle Quayle and I are so glad you freed us."

"And Minsc is glad to have a new witch!" the berserker boomed. Then he smacked himself on the head so hard that he risked scrambling his already-addled brain still further. "I forgot! Boo says, 'Where are your manners Minsc?' Aerie, these are our good friends Arowan and Yoshimo. Arowan and Yoshimo, meet Aerie!"

Over the sausages (which were indeed most suspect) they recapped some of their adventures in Trademeet. They left out any mention of Freya's fur, of course. The werewolf and Minsc's friendship had been a tempestuous one, but he would never be able to understand what they had done. Nor forgive them for returning the coat to Bodhi. In any case, Boo had strong opinions on the subject of wearing fur.

Minsc's party had also been busy. Faux-Hexxat had been replaced by real Hexxat, Neera had saved some wild mages from the Red Wizards, Aerie had just been rescued from the enchanted circus and the search for Edwin went on.

Arowan was still curious as to why Minsc was ok with Hexxat eating Clara. At this question the Rashemen's broad, friendly face darkened.

"Getting past the shades in Dragomir's tomb wasn't easy," Neera whispered. "They kept weakening us by draining our energy. Clara suggested tossing them Boo and letting them feed on him, so that we could get a head start."

"Ah." Arowan replied. That explained it. Though Minsc was already on his second meaty sausage by this point in the conversation, he had a soft spot for animals, and Boo in particular. She was surprised that after Clara's suggestion, the berserker hadn't finished her off himself. "So are the four of you going to be a party now?"

"You mean the five of us!" Minsc beamed, pointing at Boo. Then he tapped his nose conspiratorially. "Perhaps even the six of us!"

He said nothing more, and Arowan looked to Aerie and Neera for an explanation.

"We had some help from a half-orc, but he went away," Aerie said nervously. She was nibbling the end of her sausage, without enthusiasm. Coming from the circus herself, she probably had a better idea of what they contained than the rest of the group did. "I'm rather glad he didn't stay. Not that I'm not grateful, but he was scary."

Arowan was gripped by a sudden sense of unease. She had not seen many half-orcs in Athkatla, or indeed at all. Yet they were not so rare that it necessarily had to be...

"Ah yes, our old friend Dorn was here!" Minsc confirmed happily. Arowan made a non-committal noise in the back of her throat. The three of them had journeyed to Dragonspear as part of the same party, but she did not consider Dorn a 'friend.' She was sure that he did not think of her as one either. "He turned up just as we were about to go into the circus tent and offered to help. Wasn't that nice of him?"

Arowan scowled dubiously. She doubted that Dorn Il-Khan had ever done anything nice in his life. He had to be up to something, but she couldn't imagine what.

"Minsc almost forgot!" he cried suddenly, smacking himself on the head again. "Nice Mr Il-Khan asked me to give you this!"

He fumbled in his pocket pulling out a handful of gold mixed with sunflower seeds, some spare hay for hamster bedding and a lump of nibbled cheese. Minsc dropped the items onto the table before rummaging deeper. Finally he held out a little rolled up piece of parchment that had dropped to the bottom of his pocket. The tiny scroll had been threaded through a ring of red and silver.

Arowan took it from him warily. This gift from Dorn did not seem to present any obvious danger but she certainly wasn't about to put it on. Perhaps it was a geas ring or maybe, like Rancor, a link through which Ur-Gothoz could send her more cursed visions of slaughtered drow.

"Men are leaving you rings now?" Yoshimo asked, though his tone was more amusement than jealousy. "Do I have competition?"

"From _Dorn?_" Arowan spluttered, though in truth the suggestion was not quite so ridiculous as she was making out.

When she had first met the half-orc, she had found his large frame and sweeping dark hair rather appealing. The ranger had always had a bit of a thing for long-haired men. But then she had grown to know him. His evil, his brutality and his total disengagement from the concept of personal hygiene. So fleeting had been her interest, that by this point she had genuinely forgotten ever having had any.

She slipped the parchment from inside the ring. In spite of herself she was curious. She could read it couldn't she? It couldn't hurt just to read it.

Only, it transpired that she couldn't read it. Dorn's spiky, dense handwriting was beyond her powers to decode. She passed it to Yoshimo instead, who read simply:

...

"_I will be waiting in the Crooked Crane Inn. Send word and I will come._

_~Dorn Il-Khan_

_Ps. Keep the ring. Nobody in this world has more need of it than you."_

_..._

Arowan picked up the red and silver ring, glaring at it as though it were about to attack her.

"Anyone know what it is?" she asked.

"No idea," shrugged Minsc. "Dorn claimed it as his share of the treasure when we kicked the butt of the Kalah-gnome. There were better prizes. Swords galore! But Dorn chose this."

"I know what it is," Aerie ventured quietly. "It belonged to Kalah. Quayle tried to buy it off him dozens of times, but he wouldn't sell it. It's a Ring of Human Influence."

"And how would it influence me?" asked Arowan, making up her mind to toss it into the sewers the first chance she got.

"No, no, you're the one who does the influencing!" Aerie corrected her, hastily. "It sends your charisma sky-high."

All her life, Arowan had suffered from the curse of low charisma. Shopkeepers overcharged her, barkeepers served her last. Gorion had more or less ignored her existence. Her brief attempt to lead a party had been so ineffectual that even Khalid had felt compelled to say something. For months she had skulked in the shadow of her sister Freya, the Hero of Baldur's Gate, whose artificially enhanced charisma probably set some sort of record. The temptation to put on the Charisma Ring (as she immediately renamed it) was there. For a moment she waivered.

Then she laughed and popped the Blackguard's present into her pocket.

"Dorn must think I was born yesterday," she chuckled. "If you see him again, tell him he'll be waiting in that Inn for a very long time."

* * *

* * *

They were to meet Minsc's party again that evening in the Copper Coronet. It only now occurred to Arowan and Yoshimo that they had not agreed a rendezvous place with Jaheira, but since they had previously been staying in the Slum's seediest inn, it was probably one of the first places she would look.

"We'll lose our rooms at the Mithrest then," sighed Yoshimo, a shade regretfully. He preferred a higher end tavern than their low budget party usually chose.

"Actually I didn't book us rooms," Arowan said. A mischievous smile crept over her face.

"You booked us one room?" Yoshimo asked, both surprised and hopeful.

"Don't be dopey," she grinned, giving him a playful shove. "The horses have a room but erm… we don't."

"Why not?" frowned Yoshimo. The Inn was an upmarket establishment but he had never known them turn away someone with the gold to pay, just because of shabby clothes.

"I… I couldn't tell you in front of Minsc, he's far too innocent," she babbled. For some reason the ranger was having difficulty keeping a straight enough face to get the words out. "Only something went wrong."

"What?" asked Yoshimo, intrigued.

"Erm… do you remember the golden pantaloon man?" she asked with just a hint of a smile.

"By Ilmater! How could I forget him?" laughed Yoshimo, raising his fingers to his eye. There was still a ghost of a bruise lingering from where the pantaloons had struck him. "Is he staying at the Mithrest? Is he still mad at us?"

"Yes he is, and possibly. I'm not exactly sure," she replied hesitantly. "What happened was, the stable boy was leading my horses. When he opened the gate to their stall I saw…" She spluttered with laughter, then looked frightfully guilty about it. "I shouldn't laugh, it isn't funny."

"Was he trying to spin straw into golden pantaloons?" Yoshimo hazarded.

"It's a mercy that he was wearing any pantaloons at all," Arowan replied. "We found him in a hay bale with his head up a woman's skirt."

"A bit awkward, but I'm not sure it was worth forfeiting our room and board over," the thief grinned.

"The woman was Keldorn's wife."

Yoshimo goggled at her. Keldorn rarely mentioned his wife, and she was not sure what their relationship was like. She was certain, however, that the paladin would not be happy to learn of his wife's infidelity, and that it was unkind to take pleasure in it. Yet the more she tried to force herself not to find it funny, the more hysterical it seemed. Arowan went on, screwing up her eyes, and willing herself not to betray any hint of amusement.

"He… he… heard someone come in and his head pops out from under the skirt and the stable boy says… he says…"

Arowan's ribs felt like they were about to crack and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. It wasn't that she thought Keldorn's inevitable heartache was anything to laugh about. More the expression on the man's face and the bizarrely posh and formal response of the stableboy.

"He says; 'Lady Arowan of Candlekeep, let me introduce Sir William Thorpe and Lady Maria Keldorn.' Just like that, as though nothing unusual was happening! I just panicked. I didn't know what to do, so I sort of half-bowed, and then I remembered I was meant to curtsey, so I tried to do both and toppled over into the hay. Then I said; 'It's an honour to meet you. Do excuse me!" And I ran away."

"What else could you have done?" chuckled Yoshimo. "Are you going to tell Keldorn?"

"Sweet Ilmater, no!" Arowan yelped. "Why would I do that?"

"He's our friend," Yoshimo said doubtfully. "Sort of."

She let go of his hand guiltily. For a while she looked around the crowded circus. People were flocking back now that the situation in the main tent had been dealt with. The denizens of the Sword Coast were used to magic and random violence. Already those who had not lost loved ones to Kalah were munching on giant sausages and oohing at acrobats as though nothing untoward had occured. Things like this happened so often that what else could the ordinary people do, but carry on as normal?

"Look, this will go one of two ways," Arowan said, sobering up. "Either her affair will burn out on its own, in which case what Keldorn doesn't know can't hurt him. Or it will all come out without our help. Besides you heard what Keldorn and Anomen said about those fallen paladins in the Bridge District. Nobles having affairs is a serious business in Athkatla. If we go sticking our noses in, gods know what the fallout will be."

"Good point," shrugged Yoshimo. "Now, since we have some time before we have to face your mother, what would you like to do, my friend?"

"I think," Arowan said darkly, "That we should take this Charisma Ring to the Adventurer's Mart and have the experts examine it. I want to know what in the hells Dorn Il-Khan is playing at."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Blackadder III


	20. Rasaad and Arowan

It was late by the time Yoshimo and Arowan returned to the Copper Coronet. The sun was slipping behind Athkatla's walls and sparrows twittered their evensong from the rooftops. All of their non-essential kit had been traded for the opinion of every cleric, merchant and wizard that the pair of them could find. All came back with the same answer. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the Charisma Ring. Dorn's gift was exactly what it appeared to be.

"I still don't trust it," Arowan snapped. Yoshimo shook his head despairingly.

Stubborn as a mule and resilient beyond all reason. She had led a life that would have seen most people screaming at the walls of their padded cell. It had, at worst, unhinged her slightly. He had to admire her for it. Even her compassion remained undented from when they had first met, though now it was tainted with a healthy dose of cynicism. When it came to this ring, however, he found her suspicion excessive.

"Let it go, crazy lady. We have nothing left to trade except the ring itself," he said. "And we really ought to find Jaheira. The longer we leave her worrying about you, the angrier she is going to be."

"Then let's sell the wretched thing," she replied defiantly. "We can give it to that patronizing arsewipe who runs the Adventurer's Mart. If he's wrong, and it is cursed, then it's on him. Seeing as he's the 'expert' and all."

"He wasn't patronizing you, my obstinate friend, you are being bull-headed!" Yoshimo replied bluntly. "You'd be mad to sell it. You won't get a tenth of what it's worth. Even if you only wear it to go shopping, it will pay for itself in a week!"

"You wear the blasted thing then!" she retorted, throwing it at him. He caught it deftly, kissed it, and handed it back to her.

"Not a chance!" Yoshimo laughed. "From what I have heard about your friend Dorn, if he sees a gift meant for you sitting on my finger, that finger is coming off."

"He's not my friend."

Arowan scowled as she tucked the offending item into her pocket, but the thief was right, she ought to look for Jaheira. As for the Charisma Ring, she would have to think long and hard about what to do with it. All the experts agreed that it was not cursed, nor did it possess any hidden properties. Aerie had known its previous owner, and at no point had Dorn been left unsupervised with the item. He and his master had not had any opportunity to tamper with it.

But (and it was a big but) Dorn wanted her to have it. Which meant Ur-Gothoz also wanted her charisma to rise. That alone was reason enough to reject the trinket, though she couldn't help but want it deep down.

'_Freya had charisma even higher than this ring would give me,' _Arowan told herself sternly, _'And a fat lot of good it did her in the end.'_

They passed under the archways of the promenade toward the gates to the slum district. This was a dumping ground for the poor and unwanted of Athkatla. Out of sight and out of mind. High walls surrounded it so that the wealthy need not see or hear them, nor be troubled by their existence. It was like stepping into a different city. Here the content of chamber pots was flung indiscriminately from the upper windows, the walls were unpainted and the tiled rooftops sported gaping holes.

Yet many of the run down, tiny houses had pristine windows and immaculately swept front steps. Lines of laundry were strung above their heads from window to window. Stainless white shirts flapped defiantly like flags, declaring that at least some of the residents were proud of their home.

"Tell me, did you want to get into adventuring?" Yoshimo asked suddenly. "It is a dangerous business as you well know. Any one of us could die without even a moment's notice."

"I did not so much get into adventuring as it was forced on me," she replied grimly. "When Sarevok killed Gorion I ran for it like all his other wards. It's more by luck than judgement that I'm the last one left alive."

"Could you tell me more about Sarevok?" he asked. The thief's mood seemed to have taken a sudden dip. He wasn't looking at her, instead his eyes were fixed on the grimy cobblestones at their feet.

"Why do you want to know?" Arowan frowned.

"He was Tamoko's lover. She died for him," Yoshimo replied. Then he frowned and added angrily, "I heard rumours in Baldur's Gate that he had a whole harem of women and that he sent Tamoko out there to face Freya alone, knowing that she wouldn't stand a chance. Rumours and whispers. I want the truth, Arowan, is that too much to ask?"

"I'm sorry Yoshimo," Arowan replied, taken aback at this sudden burst of feeling. "But I can't give it to you. I know next to nothing about him, other than that he killed Gorion and then Freya killed him."

"She never spoke about him at all?" he asked.

He turned his dark eyes to her, almost pleading. She had no idea what had caused his mood to shift from sunny to pained. Nor why, after six months of barely mentioning Sarevok, he'd suddenly decided that he wanted to discuss him now. Perhaps talking so much about home that day had brought it all back.

"She rarely brought him up," Arowan replied carefully. "I got the impression that Freya felt the same way about Sarevok as you did about her. As far as his relationship with Tamoko went," she paused and took a deep breath. He gestured for her to go on, so she did, though she knew her answer would not satisfy him. "Freya never mentioned Tamoko at all. I'm really sorry, Yoshimo, but I don't think she even knew who she was. The Bitch of Baldur's Gate slew hundreds of Sarevok's followers. To her your sister was just another anonymous guard standing between her and her prey."

Yoshimo's face contorted and he turned away angrily. She sighed. Freya had not been evil, exactly, but she'd certainly fallen far short of good. As far as the werewolf was concerned, there was no moral quandary about killing someone who wanted to kill her or her friends. It never even occurred to her that there could be.

In some ways Arowan envied her dead sister. When she was fighting, even against slavers and those who unquestionably deserved death, she found herself thinking of their parents and children who would lose a loved one. Did they deserve it too? Freya had never been troubled by such questions. Empathy requires the ability to put yourself in someone else's shoes, and the dumb mutt had simply lacked the imagination to do so.

Worse than having killed slavers were the deaths of Caelar Argent's crusaders, who had genuinely believed that they were doing the right thing. Arowan had personally dispatched many of them. When it transpired that they would have thrown open the gates to hell, it had helped to ease her guilt. Numbing potions had also given her conscience some respite. Yet now that she was almost weaned from them, their faces were starting to creep back into her head. She pushed them to the back of her mind.

"And Sarevok himself?" Yoshimo pressed.

"He liked to monologue, apparently," Arowan shrugged, "But I only spoke to him a couple of times."

"I thought you said the two of you never met?" he frowned.

"We didn't in real life," she replied. "But Irenicus summoned his spirit back from the Abyss in our dreams. Mostly he and Freya exchanged insults and then she killed him again… but at one point I was alone with Sarevok. He told me that I wasn't on a par with him or my sister and that he'd killed dozens like me, barely lifting a finger. Then he said that he'd answered Irenicus's summons for something to do. He complained that the Abyss was boring."

"Did he now?" asked Yoshimo. For some reason his eyes lit up at this, and there was an eagerness in his tone that she struggled to explain. "What else did he say?"

"Nothing, because at that point he decapitated me and I woke up." Arowan winced at the memory. It had only been in a dream but it had felt very real. She even rubbed her neck subconsciously, just from thinking about it.

Their conversation had brought them to the door of the Copper Coronet and there, mercifully, it ended. As soon as the door creaked open on its rusty hinges, Arowan was seized by Anomen and subjected to a thorough inspection by Jaheira. The druid was, predictably, livid. They soon established that she was not on numbing potions, though the examination involved more jabbing and sharper prodding than was probably necessary.

Arowan and Yoshimo fed her their practised lie; that she had given the gold to her contact, who had stolen it without supplying any numbing potions. The druid was too relieved to stay angry for long, but the same could not be said for the rest of her party.

"I assume she gets no share of the party's treasure until she has paid us back?" Anomen huffed, dropping Arowan like a sack of flour. "I didn't trek through that rancid druid swamp carrying a severed head just to donate our reward money to crooks!"

"Sorry," she replied, though she did not look it. Beside her Yoshimo squirmed with guilt that Arowan was getting the blame for this.

"Frail minded rivvil, your weakness comes as no surprise to _me,_" Viconia smirked. "I knew that you would prove too feeble to beat this addiction."

The ranger's fingers clenched, as though aching to wind them about the drow's pretty throat. She was not about to apologise to her, especially for something she didn't do. Yoshimo's hand clamped on her arm as she took a step forward, but before she and Viconia could engage in yet another spat, Rasaad moved forward to say his piece.

Arowan's eyes widened in shock, which quickly turned to venomous fury.

"WHAT IS HE DOING HERE?" she thundered at Jaheira, so loudly that the raucous inn fell silent.

"Do not take that tone with me after what you have just done!" the druid retorted indignantly. Her arms folded across her chest and she drew herself to her full height. "I voted against bringing him, as did Anomen…"

"Actually, I abstained," interjected Anomen, with a nervous glance at the drow.

"Viconia, however, threatened to leave the party if we didn't take Rasaad. I am perfectly willing to let her do so," Jaheira went on, "But I assume that you are not?"

She waited expectantly, as the ranger's jaw spasmed. It was clear to them all what was going on in her head. Viconia was the Servant of all Faiths, the only one with the power to prevent Ur-Gothoz's terrible plans from coming true. Plans which involved herself and Anomen. The best chance of thwarting him still seemed to be to keep them all together. Finally she came to a decision.

"Don't speak to me," she said to Rasaad, in a voice like poison. "Walk at the back where I don't have to look at you, and keep out of my way."

She strode away to where Minsc's party were sitting, watching on with mild curiosity. Now that it was clear that there was not going to be a fight, the other patrons lost interest, and the chatter in the bar resumed.

Rasaad, however, felt that Arowan was in no position to be dictating terms. Ignoring Jaheira's warning him not to, he followed her. He caught her by the arm to stop her. The unwelcome touch of his hand on her incensed the ranger beyond reason. It was only his years of martial arts training that spared his wrist from the point of her hunting dagger. He let go immediately, raising his palms in a placating gesture, and she returned her knife to its sheath. Judging by her expression, she would rather have plunged it into his chest.

"This is awkward for me too," he said in a low whisper. "But I am part of this group now. If you're not prepared to split the party, then you'll just have to live with it."

"Don't count on it," she threatened. "I could always poison your food."

"That… is a joke, right?" Rasaad asked uncertainly.

There was a pause, and the monk actually looked nervous. He had always had a problem with taking things too literally. Arowan scowled at him.

"That stopped being cute a long time ago."

Firelight reflected from the top of his shaven head. The flickering, like everything else about him, was grating on her nerves. The monk was glaring at her intensely from under those ridiculous facial tattoos. Had she really once found him attractive? Now his face looked to her like a toddler had drawn ink doodles all over a hard-boiled egg.

"It would be foolish to assume that poison is an empty threat," Rasaad said accusingly. "Coming from a numbing potion addict."

Like a cat stalking a shrew, she took a delicate step toward him. Her next words were intentionally quiet, for angry though she was, she wanted to spare Minsc the details of exactly what had happened to his friend.

"I'm no coward Rasaad," she hissed. "I've survived assassination attempts, fought a war and faced the prospect of the gallows. I'd have run into hell after you if Dorn and Khalid hadn't stopped me. But have you ever seen anything skinned alive, Rasaad? Because I have. Would you like me to describe it to you?"

"I would not."

"I saw what Irenicus did to Freya, and it didn't kill her. He'd have kept her alive in that state for weeks, maybe months, if Dad hadn't intervened. That's who I had to hand myself over to, that's what I was facing. I didn't think it mattered if I took numbing potions, because I was expecting to die." When she ended her explanation, Rasaad's eyes still burned with betrayal. She scoffed. "I don't have to explain myself to you of all people."

"I do not know what I have done to earn such animosity," he began, in a voice of forced calm.

"You abandoned me in a Flaming Fist jail," Arowan hissed. "They were talking about hanging me, and you calmly walked away!"

To Rasaad this was laughably unfair. Forgetting that they had an audience, he slammed his broad hand down on the table beside him, upsetting several tankards. Their owners briefly considered retaliating, but the size of the monk persuaded them to reconsider.

"THEY MADE ME LEAVE!" Rasaad hollered.

"They couldn't have made me!" she cried.

A purple vein was pulsing on his neck. His face was turning red, as though he were being throttled by his own rage. It seemed to have rendered him temporarily incapable of speech, for he began rummaging deep in his pack for something.

"Tell me, what were you planning to do if they had decided to execute me?" Arowan went on, "Would you have stood in the mob watching my body jerk on the end of a rope, or were you too busy with Alorgoth to bother showing up?"

This was too much for Rasaad. He could not risk her ruining his plans to infiltrate the Twofold Trust by broadcasting his obsession with the Dark Moon Cult to a crowded tavern. The monk made toward the back rooms, and when she refused to follow him, he seized her pack and dragged it. The ranger had the option of letting go of it, but it was still a forceful gesture on his part, and by the time they found an empty room her expression was homicidal.

* * *

* * *

In the small back room of the Copper Coronet, Rasaad dropped her pack. They were alone now, though this private chat had come at the price of infuriating her still further.

He was determined to say his piece, however. If they were going to be forced to travel together then at some point what happened in Baldur's Gate would have to surface. Better now than in the heat of a life and death battle.

"What would you rather? That I had started a civil war in your name?" he yelled, exasperatedly. "And left hundreds, maybe thousands of people dead? For you?"

"NO!" she screamed. Tears gripped her at the memory of watching him so easily walk away and leave her to her fate. This was exactly what she had been determined to avoid. It was easier to be angry than to be sad. Anger was strength and sadness weakness, as Viconia might have put it. Arowan turned away, humiliated. "But... yes."

"I don't understand," said Rasaad painfully.

"I would sooner be strung up than have a war started because of me," the ranger said truthfully. She had always been willing (albeit not keen) to lay down her life for her principles. But that wasn't the point.

"I know you would, that is why-"

"But if our places had been switched there is nothing I would not have done to get you out," she interrupted him. "You gave up so easily, you were fine and... and in a way I was relieved, obviously... That you weren't in danger and you weren't going to put the Blue Beards in harm's way for me. But I knew then that you didn't love me. At least not the way I loved you."

Rasaad was stunned.

"I thought maybe being with you would be different the second time around," she said, very calm and matter of fact. It felt oddly relieving to say it out loud, as though putting down a heavy burden that she hadn't even noticed she'd been carrying. "I'd changed, you'd changed. It seemed like you were sure of what you wanted. So I let myself fall for you all over again, after you'd let me down so many times before."

"You think that I didn't love you?"

"I'm sure you believed you did at the time," she sighed, rolling her eyes.

Anger flared in Rasaad's chest once more. He pulled out the item he had been looking for in his pack and slammed a yellowing scroll onto the table in front of her. He folded his arms and glared at her expectantly.

Arowan picked it up and unrolled it cautiously. It was a long list of signatures in different handwriting. At the very top was the name Rasaad yn Bashir.

"What am I looking at?" she asked slowly.

"These were the nobles and warriors ready to take up arms against the Grand Dukes," he said defiantly. "Selune forgive me, but if they had tried to hurt you I would have burned that accursed city and everyone in it!"

"I..."

"But I thought," he went on angrily, "That before drowning the people of Baldur's Gate in a sea of their own blood, maybe, just maybe, it might be sensible to wait. In case they decided to free you of their own accord. Which they did!"

"They didn't. Coran freed me," she said shakily. A muscle in Rasaad's jaw started to twitch.

"Of course he did," the monk muttered, knotting his broad arms. "Of course he did. Spare me the details of what happened after that. Knowing you two I can hazard a guess."

The colour drained from Arowan's face, as she stared at the list in horror.

"I don't understand…" she said faintly. "You acted like you'd accepted my arrest!"

"What else was I supposed to do, while Freya was in the cell next to yours?" he snapped. "If she hadn't gone chasing after Irenicus, she'd have been running the city again in a week. The commoners and the Flaming Fist all wanted her released and put back in charge. With Skie out of the picture I could have persuaded her to let you leave. Provided I did not do anything _really _stupid. Like, I don't know… threatening to raise a rebellion right in front of her!"

"I was locked in there for a long time after Freya left. You could have come to see me then!"

Rasaad screwed his eyes shut and shook his head. He could not believe that they had come to where they were. There was certainly no way back for either of them, but it hadn't needed to be like this.

"I couldn't," he replied. "They only let me visit the first time because I told them I was there to see my party leader, Freya. You have no idea how much the Flaming Fist loved her, they weren't about to block her visitors. Whereas you were nobody to them."

The ranger could think of nothing to say. This did not make her regret their relationship ending. None of this changed the fact that they had always made each other deeply unhappy. She no longer loved him, and love had been the only thing that their romance had going for it.

Except that it had been a lot more comfortable believing that it was all his fault and that she was entirely blameless. Only now was she forced to face the fact that running off with Coran, without even giving him a chance to explain himself, wasn't fair, and Rasaad was not finished yet.

"So tell me, Arowan, was I right not to start a rebellion for you that would have killed hundreds? When as it turned out, you were about to be freed anyway?" he went on, his voice rising steadily until it ended in something close to a scream. "Because unlike you Arowan, I LOOK BEFORE I SHOOT!"

An angry silence crackled between them. Perhaps, this time, she had been in the wrong, but she was not about to let the miserable monk play the victim.

"You were right," she conceded finally, reluctantly. "This time. But if it weren't for you stringing me along and dumping me for so long, I'd have given you the benefit of the doubt. From my point of view, you were just doing exactly what you always do."

The monk was breathing heavily, but he knew that she too had a point.

"You slept with Coran," he muttered resentfully.

"You always had feelings for Viconia," she replied flatly. If they were going to air their grievances they might as well get it all out at once.

"I never touched her!"

"No, but you wanted to," Arowan said. Rasaad opened his mouth to protest but she snapped him down impatiently. "Yes you did, don't insult my intelligence. I've not forgotten about that little incident with the succubus in Durlag's Tower, and neither have you."

There was no denying this. He had tried not to think about that ever since it had happened. The memory of that encounter made him want to burrow into the ground, curl up like a grub and hide there forever. Sometimes he told himself that it had not looked as bad to everyone else as it felt to him. He'd remember it, wince, then reassure himself that everybody had long forgotten it except him. It stung to hear that this was not the case.

"That is not my fault," he said in a constricted voice. "You have no idea how disgusted I was with myself for having such urges toward a follower of Shar. I tried everything to suppress them."

"Including finding yourself a more palatable distraction?" Arowan asked in a sarcastically pleasant tone. "I mean, if you're going to break the rules and have sex, a nice, harmless Ilmatari has got to be the lesser of two evils, right?"

"Romantic relationships are rare in my Order but they are not technically forbidden," he began defensively, but she cut him off.

"_Real_ monks do not have lovers," she said bluntly. Rasaad's convoluted attempts to find a way to both stay a monk and live a normal life had always irritated her. Until now she had held back her real opinion to spare his feelings, but there was no point sugar-coating anything now. "Not _official _ones anyway. That is the difference between a monk and a cleric."

Even he was not really sure where he stood on this one. If he could, he would both be a monk and married with a family of his own, but the two lifestyles were not compatible. Knowing he was on shaky ground, he changed the subject.

"You took numbing potions," he said with an air of finality.

On his side, that was the guillotine that severed any attachment to Arowan. The rest, perhaps, might have been fixable.

"We make each other miserable," she replied.

And that was the death-gong on her side. Even if their relationship had been saveable, it was better for everyone to let it die. Better to be alone than unhappy. They sat in silence for a long time, just staring out the window.

"Well," she said at length. "There it is."

* * *

* * *

Back in the bar, the others waited. Yoshimo and Viconia were both rather quiet, but it was a pleasant enough rest for young Anomen. The two parties had taken over the cleaner end of the tavern. He had an ale in his hand, was buoyed up on righteous indignation and surrounded by attractive women.

"My lady Jaheira, it fills me with no small wonder that you have not asked me of my journeys 'ere we met," Anomen began.

His muddy boots were crossed over the table and he was leaning his chair back on two legs. The obvious effort that it was taking him to balance like this was spoiling his devil-may-care act. Since failing the test for knighthood, Anomen had been adopting an increasingly roguish persona. It put the druid in mind of Freya, only the difference was that he lacked the charisma to pull it off.

Despite Jaheira's monosyllabic replies he launched into an epic tale of his glorious conquest of some ogre clan or other. She wished that he would turn his attention to Aerie instead. He was handsome and she was, in the druid's rapid judgement, sufficiently vapid to tolerate him. Or perhaps he could try his luck with Viconia. He was attractive enough that the drow might see fit to use him as a sex toy, though she would probably need to gag him first.

Jaheira was musing on this when his long and improbable story finally drew to a close. She almost sagged with relief, but then he asked her to recount some of her own exploits. Yoshimo was just chewing over whether or not to rescue her, when the druid rescued herself.

"I have little to tell, good knight," she smiled, "But Minsc here fought alongside non-other than the Hero of Baldur's Gate. Minsc! Tell Anomen about the time you and Boo 'placed the righteous boot of justice' upon Sarevok's butt."

Anomen looked a little disappointed, but Yoshimo's head jerked up immediately. He pulled up a chair near the berserker, eager for details. Though both Minsc and Imoen had been present at Tamoko's death, he knew that they were not to blame. According to Arowan, who had witnessed it from a distance, Freya had cut her down single-handed in a matter of seconds. He did, however, want to know more about Sarevok. He had been mulling over Arowan's prediction that Eric would not come willingly from the afterlife, and now he had the seeds of an idea.

"Ah, our victory over the dastardly Sarevok! Now _there _is a tale!" Minsc cried, and launched into it with great enthusiasm. Jaheira detached herself from the conversation with thief-like stealth, leaving Anomen caught in the trap. It was a full half-hour before the knight was able to get a further word in edgeways.

He was not aided by Yoshimo. The Kara-Turan hung on Minsc's every word, pressing him for details. By the time the Rashemen was done with his story, the thief reckoned he had the measure of the man. Sarevok had been power-hungry, egotistical, and thoroughly deserved whatever misfortune the fates might throw at him. It was exactly what Yoshimo had been hoping to hear.

* * *

* * *

They waited until Arowan and Rasaad returned to order food. Both ranger and monk looked rather drained, but neither were bleeding, and each seemed resigned to the other's presence. They took their seats at opposite ends of the group and did not speak another word to each other all evening.

Dinner took the form of hunks of gritty bread and bowlfuls of 'meat stew.' As with the sausages, the meat was not named, which was never a good sign. Hexxat slipped away to go hunting, while Neera attempted to improve her stew with magic. Her broth bubbled for a moment, then extended a watery tentacle. As the diners pushed back their chairs, the protrusion turned left and right as though peering around the bar. Then, quick as a flash, it leapt from the bowl, oozed under a door crack and made its getaway.

"Would you like some of mine?" Aerie offered.

"Thanks but it's probably safer if I just stick with the bread," Neera sighed, resignedly. "So, Jaheira, how busy are you guys at the moment? Because we could really use your help with something…"

This prompted a fierce debate about where the groups ought to go next. Neera wanted to show them a hidden refuge for wild mages. Yoshimo responded by producing the dryads' acorns and (backed up by a conscience-stricken Arowan) pleaded that they really ought to get them out of Irenicus's dungeon before they did anything else.

"I agree," said Jaheira, shuddering at the memory. "I would not leave my worst enemies in that place. Though the Order of the Radiant Heart will demand that we see to the Umar Hills next."

"They are at opposite ends of the region!" Anomen protested. "I say to hells with the Order! Arowan is almost weaned off the numbing potions and I can make them myself in a pinch, if we run out. We should free the dryads, and offer our aid to this _very _fair maiden's Hidden Refuge. Then, if there's time, we'll worry about what Keldorn and his poxy knights want from us."

Neera beamed at his suggestion, and the cleric turned his eye to her. Jaheira silently praised Sylvanus for small mercies.

"We are forgetting the Twofold Trust!" Rasaad reminded them sharply. He looked to Viconia for support, though the drow had only used that quest as a pretext to have him in the party.

"Do you have any idea where to begin looking for their temple, moon male?" the drow asked.

"Well.. no," he confessed awkwardly. He could not meet Viconia's eye. Not after what Arowan had said. If his attraction had been obvious even to the ranger, then the drow must certainly be aware.

"Then your heretics are as likely to be in the southern forests or the northern hills as anywhere else!" Neera said brightly.

So it was agreed.

"We should tell the Order of our plans," Arowan said, though she did not object to them. Forests always called to her, just as they did to Jaheira. "If the situation in Umar is truly urgent, they may wish to send somebody else."

"Don't look at me!" snapped Anomen, though nobody was. "I'm not telling the Order anything. You go!"

"Arowan and I will report to Keldorn in the morning," said Jaheira.

Arowan found this a most unwelcome suggestion. Golden pantaloons waggled and thrust suggestively in her mind's eye. After what she had caught his wife doing in the stable, she would rather pluck out her own gallbladder with an oyster fork than go and talk to Keldorn. She looked at Yoshimo in panic. Sympathy and amusement were plastered on his handsome face, but he made no move to save her.

"I don't need to be there, surely?" she squeaked. "You can talk to Keldorn on your own!"

"Oh no!" Jaheira glared. "I'm not leaving you unsupervised! You might go questing for numbing potions again as soon as my back is turned."

"That's not why, I promise," whined Arowan. "Take someone else to the Radiant Heart! Anomen… no not Anomen. Rasaad or Viconia maybe?"

"Sir Keldorn has never met Rasaad, and he hates Viconia!" Jaheira reminded her. "What has gotten into you?"

"Take Yoshimo!" Arowan volunteered him treacherously. He was the only one left.

"Oh no! Not a chance!" the thief exclaimed, too forcefully. The druid eyed them shrewdly.

"What is going on?" she demanded. When neither spoke, she rapped her staff over Yoshimo's knuckles. He yelped and stood up, which was a mistake as it exposed his stomach for her to poke him in with her stick. "Answer me."

So they had to. The erotic exploits of Keldorn's wife with the golden pantaloon man provoked a mixed reaction. Rasaad looked grim, whereas Anomen grew unattractively consumed by glee. He at once changed his mind about not setting foot in the Order, and volunteered to accompany Jaheira himself, in the hopes of enjoying a gloat. Viconia's response was also rather smug. Keldorn had wanted to burn her alive so she (not entirely unreasonably) thought that he had it coming.

Minsc began to ponder what Sir William could have been searching for up Lady Firecam's skirts. A lost hamster perhaps? Arowan wondered whether it was possible for a man of Minsc's years who had seen so much of the world to truly be that innocent. Sometimes it seemed as though the Rashemen was having a long joke at the rest of the world's expense.

"So we're not going together?" Arowan asked, pleadingly.

"Of course not!" Jaheira exclaimed. Her daughter sagged with relief until the druid added; "I'm not touching this one with a six-foot quarterstaff. You're going without me

"Thanks a bunch Mum," muttered Arowan.

"Party leader's privilege," smirked Jaheira. "And take Yoshimo."

"Me?" yelped the thief. "What did I do?"

"Somebody has to supervise Arowan to make sure that she doesn't try to buy numbing potions again," Jaheira said. "It's too risky to send Viconia, given how the Order feel about drow and I don't trust Anomen not to start a fight. Alas, that leaves only you."

It also left Rasaad, but Jaheira was not about to encourage him and Arowan to spend time alone together. Their relationship had been bad for her daughter, and while she still didn't wholly trust Yoshimo, she considered him the lesser of two evils.

* * *

* * *

The next morning Arowan and Yoshimo dressed at a snail's pace, ate their breakfast slowly and set out for the Temple District, dragging their feet.

"Should we stop at Ilmater's temple and pray for the strength not to laugh?" he suggested.

"I fear we are beyond the aid even of gods now," she groaned.

They walked the rest of the way in silence. She was rehearsing in her head the most concise turns of phrase that they could use to communicate where they were going and get them out of Keldorn's office as rapidly as possible. The district walkways bridged over ornamental lakes and streams. Tinkling fountains and miniature waterfalls rang like merry laughter in their ears. It was not helpful.

"Arowan?"

"Yes Yoshimo?"

They arrived at the entrance hall to the Radiant Heart and waited in the accusing glare of Helms vigilant eye, while a squire went to inform Keldorn of their arrival.

"Can you talk to Eric?" he asked.

It was the last question that Arowan had expected.

"Pardon?"

"You have spoken to him before have you not?" Yoshimo asked her. "In dreams and visions. Could you do it again?"

"Irenicus made that connection, I don't know how to," she replied. "And even if I did, Yoshi, nothing I say is going to convince Eric to take my place. It's not that he's malicious, but he is a coward. He'd do worse than sacrifice me to save his own skin. He already has."

"There is no possible way for you to communicate with him? You are sure?" Yoshimo looked deeply disappointed.

"What's up with your sudden preoccupation with dead Bhaalspawn?" Arowan asked. "First Sarevok, now Eric."

"It doesn't matter," he said unhappily. "If you cannot speak to Eric, then it doesn't matter."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas <3


	21. Cuckold Keldorn

It was worse even than Arowan had predicted. Sitting outside Keldorn's office on straight backed chairs they found Maria Firecam and her two daughters, flanked by armoured squires. The younger of the two children was weeping, the older glared at them with red-rimmed eyes.

"And what do we have here?" Keldorn's wife asked defiantly. "Heathen my husband converted in Calimport? Travelling pilgrims he stumbled across in Saradush?"

"Lady Arowan of Candlekeep," she replied, in a withering imitation of the stable boy who had first introduced them.

Maria rose to her feet. She was a tall, imposing, thickset woman with long golden hair wound behind her head in an elegant bun. Her dress was made of thick, fur trimmed velvet adorned with jewels. It was clear what such a fashionable lady might see in the golden pantaloons man. Superior blue eyes glared down her nose at Arowan, but the Ilmatari was unintimidated. Arowan attached no significance to rank, beyond an accident of birth.

"If you're here to talk to my husband you are wasting your time," Maria said, almost smugly. "He already knows."

"Damn!" the ranger muttered under her breath. So much for her plan to get in and out of the office quickly.

"A beggar and a thief," sneered the older daughter. "Were you vultures hoping for a reward for your information?"

"What information? I wasn't planning on telling him!" Arowan snapped.

She was standing facing the girls with her back to the door of Keldorn's office, which is why she was not aware that it had opened. The knight stood framed in the doorway looking drawn and haggard. Maria, having been caught with Sir William, had decided it best to confess before someone else told him. Yoshimo had no great love for the Order, but he felt sorry for the man.

"You weren't were you?" Keldorn demanded sharply.

Arowan froze and screwed her eyes shut. When she turned around his eyes were blazing at her, as though all of this were somehow her fault.

"Come in Arowan. Yoshimo."

"Keldorn!" Maria cried. Her husband refused to look at her. "Keldorn, I beg you don't hurt Sir William. If I can't have you, at least let me have something!"

Wishing themselves anywhere else, Arowan and Yoshimo followed Keldorn into his office and shut the door. Maria's muffled pleading was just audible on the other side. The paladin ignored it. He stood to full attention, his eyes fixed somewhere above the doorway, and spoke in a stiff and formal voice.

"The High Merchant has informed us of your success in Trademeet. The Order is most grateful for your service. Now we need you to proceed to the Umar Hills with all haste."

"We have some other business we need to take care of first," Arowan said quietly.

"Other business?" Keldorn growled disapprovingly. "After everything the Order has done for you, young lady, it is your duty to put the Order first. Of course, duty is clearly an unfashionable sentiment these days." The last line was obviously directed at Maria, who was listening outside the office and Arowan winced. The knight glared at her from under his thick grey eyebrows. "How long will your business take?"

"Difficult to say, my friend," replied Yoshimo. "But it will take us as far south as Windspear. Perhaps further."

"We have more than repaid the Order for their help," Arowan said defensively. "The cemeteries are purged of undead, the citizens of Athkatla no longer risk being seized by sewer tentacles every time they empty their chamber pots. We've dealt with the slavers, the situation in Trademeet and finished off Rejiek Hidesman into the bargain. It's been over six months, we deserve a break!"

"I haven't taken a break in years!" Keldorn retorted loudly.

"And that's the problem!" Maria hurled through the door.

The paladin strode to it and wrenched it open. His two girls flinched, but Maria held her ground like an elephant matron. Considering the situation, her attitude seemed astonishingly defiant, but Arowan had learned that couples were not always as they appeared on the surface. If her experience with Rasaad had taught her anything, it was how hard it was to get the full picture, even if you were one of the people in the relationship. Who knew what was going through this woman's head?

"Tend to your daughters and say your goodbyes," he told his wife, still refusing to look at her. "No, on second thoughts, Squires! Take Maria away. To look at her is to go mad… and I fear what I might do if she continues to taunt me."

His wife was led away, while his younger daughter gave a loud wail and buried her face into her sister's skirts. She looked no older than five. Any humour that the Ilmatari had seen in the situation was now stripped away by the brutal reality.

"Curse the dictates of honour!" Keldorn cried, slamming the door shut. "The very gods demand that I bring this case before the courts. Sir William shall be hung and my love imprisoned. There is no other outcome possible."

"Hanging seems a tad extreme," Yoshimo ventured cautiously.

"Imprisoned for how long?" asked Arowan.

Sir Keldorn looked at them as though they were mad.

"Forever, of course!" he exploded. "This is not Baldur's Gate, where a Grand Duke's daughter can bed half the city, then marry some common werewolf and get away with it. We are in Amn. The nobility here recognize our duty to set a moral example to the populace!"

"Baldur's Gate is not morally inferior to Athkatla!" Arowan cried, in a sudden, rare burst of patriotism. "Your city, as far as I can tell, has almost as many prostitutes as ordinary citizens. I'm not exaggerating! I am genuinely at a loss as to how the economy here can function!"

"I don't think that's helping Arowan…" Yoshimo cautioned her.

He was right. It wasn't. The paladin was caught up in a hurricane of grief and fury, and all that Arowan was doing was whipping him up still further.

"All the more reason for the nobility to set an example!" thundered Keldorn, turning scarlet.

"Your example isn't working, the streets here are crawling with prostitutes!" Arowan snapped.

"Including my own wife, apparently!" the aging paladin moaned. He sat down heavily before his desk, burying his face into his hands. "What am I to do? What am I to do at all? Nothing makes sense anymore!"

Arowan looked desperately at Yoshimo, who shrugged. The thief was not the most persuasive man in the world himself. In the early days, when Jaheira's suspicion was at its height, the ranger had frequently bristled at his atrocious acting. Still he was, at least, more charming than she was, so he gave it a try.

"Perhaps you should talk to your wife?" he suggested, but Keldorn dismissed this idea.

Already, he had spoken to her enough to get the picture. She accused him of spending too much time with the Order and seeing her too infrequently. Since he had not given her and her daughters the attention they craved, she had found another man who would.

"Perhaps you could confront Sir William?" Arowan ventured. "I know this hurts but a life sentence is hardly proportional to the crime. Besides she is the mother of your children. You'd be punishing them as well."

"So this is all _my _fault?" Keldorn retorted angrily.

Just as ur-Gothoz had observed to Dorn, Arowan lacked the charisma to convince anyone of anything. Sir Keldorn was determined to follow the dictates of honour and destroy his family in the process. Nothing that she could say would dissuade him from this extreme course of action.

"Just go," he sighed at length. "Go to the Umar Hills as soon as you can, once you've done whatever you need to do and I… I will do what I must."

They stepped out into the corridor where Keldorn's daughters were still perched on their chairs. Arowan shut the door on the paladin with a sigh, and the two Ilmatari began to walk away. Carved, accusing eyes stared down at them from above every doorway. She was rapidly growing to loathe the Order and its patron gods' judgemental dictates.

"Thanks."

They turned back. It was Keldorn's older daughter, Leona, who had spoken. She was a sulky, scowling girl, though no more so than your average teenager. Her ring bedecked hand was petting her younger sister's golden locks. The smaller girl had stopped crying and was curled up in her chair, with her head on Leona's lap, sniffling quietly.

"Cut the sarcasm, I didn't tell him about your mother," grumbled Arowan. "And I wasn't planning to. I had nothing to do with any of this."

"I know, I wasn't being sarcastic," Leona said quietly. "I heard you trying to talk him out of sending Mum to prison. So. Thanks. Or whatever."

At the mention of mummy going to prison, the small girl gave a great wail and started to cry again. Yoshimo gave Arowan's hand a comforting squeeze, but she was glaring at the door, fighting an internal battle. Her free hand slipped into her pocket and pulled out the Charisma Ring. She held it in her palm, biting her lower lip.

"It's worth a shot," Yoshimo shrugged.

Taking a deep breath, as though about to stick her finger into the jaws of a crocodile, Arowan put it on. Nothing happened. Then Keldorn's littlest daughter gasped in awe. Leona and Yoshimo were staring at her with their jaws hanging open.

"What did you _do?_" Leona breathed.

Arowan did not answer, she was already wrenching open the door to Keldorn's study. Once she had thought that charisma enhancement was mostly about how you looked, and clearly from the others' reactions that had changed. Yet there was more to it than that.

Charisma was about how she carried herself, how she felt. Forget knocking apologetically, opening the door a fraction and shuffling in. The door burst open, its loud bang announcing her presence, obligating the world to take notice and acknowledge her. Keldorn looked up in outraged shock.

Charisma was about knowing the right thing to say to the person in front of you, to bend them around to your own way of thinking.

"Sir Keldorn, your first duty is to your family!" Arowan said.

"My first duty is… is to the Order…" Keldorn protested, but his authoritarian persona was weakened when confronted with someone equally as charismatic as he was. It did not happen very often.

"The Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart do not care two straws about your wife and the golden pantaloon man," Arowan replied with certainty. "Helm has better things to worry about. This is between you and your family. Forgive her and take her back, or let her go, but don't deprive those little girls of their mother. Not only is it not their fault, but if you do this, they will grow up hating you and despising the Order and everything it stands for. Is that really what you want?"

For the first time in this conversation Keldorn looked doubtful.

"I used to believe that with age came wisdom," he sighed, "But I doubt it more and more with each passing day. Jail is the law, but it does seem disproportionate. Perhaps you are right. Yes… perhaps you are right. I will talk to Maria. We will see. Thank you, Arowan. Yoshimo."

The ranger stepped out of the office to find herself being hugged by Keldorn's two children. She froze, completely shell-shocked. Keldorn followed her to reassure the girls. As they ran to him, he swept them up into a great bear hug, and the Ilmatari made their getaway.

On their way back to the Copper Coronet, however, strange and unsettling things began to happen. Instead of glaring at her suspiciously, the Order's servants touched their hats respectfully as she passed. Knights who under normal circumstances would barge through Arowan as though she was not there, were stepping aside to make way for her with low bows.

In the street strangers were smiling at her. She quickened her pace with a growing sense of unease. Athkatla's stall keepers waved their wares at her as they always did, but the quality of the produce had miraculously increased. Then she realised that they were proffering their best stock to her, rather than their usual worst. What's more they were discounting it. She found herself growing quite agitated, until they ran into a clothes stall with a mirror, and she was finally able to look at herself.

The reflection staring back at her still looked like her, but at the same time, it didn't. The freckles, for example, were still present, but they had been subtly rearranged on her face. Before they were merely random blobs of brown and orange. Now, they were aesthetically spread out and flatteringly placed. As though somebody had painted them on strategically.

Her teeth were straighter and whiter. Her glossy chocolate hair was still, as always escaping from its ponytail, only instead of looking like she'd been dragged through a hedge backward, the rebellious strands hung flatteringly about her face.

"Tell me, Arowan, would you like me to let out the seams on your tunic?" Yoshimo teased helpfully. "I am quite handy with a needle. You do, after all, have more, ah… bulk… in the upper chest area."

She blinked at her reflection.

A lot of things might have been going through her mind. Like whether it was ever acceptable to manipulate someone into doing the right thing as she had with Keldorn. The dangers of accepting presents from the Blackguard of a demon. She might have doubted, as Freya had often had cause to, whether anybody would really like her for herself from now on.

Yet as she stared at her beautiful new form in the mirror, there was only one thought running through her head. She spun around to face Yoshimo with a smile as radiant as the morning sun.

"Would you look at me?" she gasped, staring down at her classically beautiful new body. "Viconia is going to be _seriously_ _pissed._"

* * *

* * *

Viconia, as it happened, was already irked. She was itching to know what Rasaad and Arowan had said in private the night before, and had spent many hours lying awake mulling it over.

'_I have turned soft. Thinking and acting like a surfacer,' _she chided herself.

In the Underdark, when she wanted a male she would simply click her fingers and demand whatever she felt like. If a rival female did not wish to share, she would simply remove them. Not that she had never tried this in Arowan's case. Both direct and judicial murder had been attempted. Somehow, though, the wretched woman disobligingly continued to draw breath.

Watery slop was her only companion over breakfast. Jaheira had vanished into a backroom with Bernard the barman, no doubt to discuss some secret Harper business. Anomen was with Minsc's party, attempting to charm Neera and Aerie simultaneously, and failing splendidly with both. Viconia knew better than to join them. She had been at odds with Dynaheir, before the witch's death, and Minsc had not forgotten it.

"May I sit with you?"

His voice was as soft as his face was hard. Never, during their acquaintance could she recall him having been genuinely happy. Freya, with her endless barrage of irreverent innuendo had cured him of some of his innocence and occasionally even dragged a laugh kicking and screaming from the taciturn monk. Yet even then, his smile had never quite reached his eyes.

Since leaving his order, however, Rasaad seemed to have hit a new low. There was not a hint of the sun about this sunny soul. The serene act that he once put on was abandoned. Now it seemed as though something dark was simmering just below the surface, ready to burst out of him at any moment.

"You would descend from the moral high ground to eat with a lowly drow?" she asked sarcastically. "Very well, if you feel you must."

"That is still a friendlier welcome than I can expect from the others," sighed Rasaad, sitting opposite her. He had learned through long experience to take Viconia's waspishness with a grain of salt. She scooped up a spoonful of soup and let the sad little broth drip back into her bowl. It was hard to work up an appetite for such an anaemic meal.

The monk was looking at her with concern. This irritated her. Pity was for the weak, and she had never been that.

"What do you want, moon male?"

"You are changed Viconia," he observed. "It seems to me there was once light in your eyes… but no longer."

She nodded, sourly. It was true enough. Her situation had gone from bad to worse, and running into Rasaad was the first bit of good luck she had encountered in a long time. Losing her protector had been a particularly bitter blow. Anomen Delryn and a reluctant Arowan were hardly replacements for the Hero of Baldur's Gate, who could have taken down the entire party blindfolded. Security, finally, had been within her grasp. Then Irenicus had ripped it away.

"When your race is used as a bogeyman it is an uphill battle to even find a bag of dirt on a stable floor for the night," she replied. "Children throwing apples, merchants loosing their hounds. I have been chased, beaten, and almost burnt alive… and for what? So my hunters can have a good story to tell around the dinner table? It has been trying past endurance."

"I am sorry," he replied. "I have faced many trials in my time, but none compare to yours, I think."

"And now, once again, I am stuck with Arowan." She practically spat the ranger's name. "It is as though the gods themselves conspire to chain me to her! I suppose it is preferable to the alternative. Do you remember how we met?"

"You were fleeing the Flaming Fist near Beregost if I recall correctly," Rasaad replied.

"Did I ever tell you why?"

"I assume because you'd tried to murder Xan," the monk rebuked her. He lifted his own bowl to his lips and downed it in four large swallows. Watery, over-salted and with large fatty globs, but he had certainly eaten worse.

"The only apology I will offer for that is that I am sorry I did not succeed," Viconia hissed. The monk knew better than to press her on this subject. "But no. They were already searching for me. I had made the attempt to purchase land on the outskirts of the town. I remained hooded at all times, and it was only a matter of time and materials before I owned my own homestead, away from prying eyes."

"I cannot see you as a farmer," Rasaad smiled. She snorted and shook her head.

Silver hair spilled down her shoulders, and for once he did not bother to rebuke himself for admiring how it shone. At this point it was the least of his sins.

"I was not looking to keep poultry. I just… wanted a place of my own. Where I could find peace."

"Peace is not easily found," he replied. "I have spent my life searching. The harder I strive for it, the deeper into chaos I sink."

"Well I certainly did not find peace in Beregost," Viconia replied, a shadow falling over her expression. "My neighbour was Roran Midfallow, a stout, sunburnt farmer. We spoke often and over time we formed an awkward friendship. He did not ask why I always wore my hood and slowly I began to trust him. He wondered though… that was obvious."

Rasaad listened with pain, as she described the abuse she had suffered when her 'friend' had discovered that she was drow. Pain… but not surprise. He had lived on the streets as an orphan and was well aware of how bad things could get for people without the means to defend themselves. He considered himself fortunate never to have fallen into the grip of such predators. As a small boy, he had not fully appreciated the full extent of the danger he had been in until long after being adopted by the monastery. Gamaz, the older brother, must have known the risk he was taking, agreeing to go home with the strange monk. They had been fortunate indeed.

Viconia had not. She described waking up in a coffin, then added with grim satisfaction, that it had been her tormentors' mistake not to kill her outright.

"The fools knew the name 'drow' but they were ignorant of my true spirit," she said disdainfully. "Pain is the handmaiden of my people. Their tortures were amateurish by comparison. I split the coffin lid open and let the earth pour in. I clawed my way to the surface, and pain did not slow me… I would not let weakness deter me from my vengeance."

"And did it help?" Rasaad asked in the end, when Viconia had described in full the violent deaths she had inflicted on the farmers. "I too seek vengeance, but I fear that when I gain it, peace will still elude me."

"Revenge is worth taking for its own sake," she told him proudly. "You may never find peace, but in my experience, revenge is a delightful second best."

"I am… glad that you had your revenge," Rasaad said, truthfully.

"Your precious Arowan would tell me that I ought to have forgiven them," snapped Viconia, her voice dripping with contempt.

"Arowan and I disagree on many things," he replied. He put the spoon down with a small clink. "Too many things. Sometimes I envy her forbearance but… she would be wrong to forgive in this instance. You had no recourse to the law nor hope of justice. If you had not taken matters into your own hands, no doubt those men would have gone on to find another victim, and another. If you also found comfort in the act, I cannot fault you for that."

"I found no satisfaction in it at all," she spat. "I am drow, and I allowed myself to be lulled, foolishly. The vengeance was bitter, Rasaad, because my own stupidity had made it necessary."

"Then, at least, I am glad that you survived." He reached out his hand hesitantly, and placed it over Viconia's. It was a pleasant surprise to the drow. Since learning that she had been forced from the Underdark as punishment for sparing the life of a baby, his opinion of her had shifted considerably. Her worship of Shar was still a sticking point but he was no longer convinced that she was beyond the reach of the light.

"You and me both," she replied emphatically. Not least because the webs of the Spider Queen waited to entangle her in the afterlife. She was no longer confident that Shar would save her. Lolth had reminded her cruelly, that the Nightwhisperer did nothing out of kindness, and had promised that she would be abandoned once she had served her function as the Servant of all Faiths.

"I- I wish that there was something I could do," he said helplessly. "Things were simpler when I was in the Order. The light less harsh. Everything is darker now, and all the light does is cast more shadows."

"There are worse things in the world than shadows," said Viconia.

Rasaad was suddenly reminded sharply who it was he was talking to. A follower of Shar would use anything to pull him further from the light. He drew his hand back from hers. Who knew whether what she was telling him was even true?

"Excuse me. I have not yet performed my meditations," he said hastily.

"Then go, rivvil!" Viconia said, stung. Unlike Arowan, she made no attempt to disguise her displeasure, and the monk knew at once that he had offended her. "I should never have attempted to unburden myself on you. I was foolish to be so weak in Beregost, and worse yet to speak to you about it!"

"Opening up to someone is no weakness Viconia," Rasaad said, regretting his response. Yet it was too late. Her window of vulnerability had been fleeting, and now her cannons were fixed on him once more.

"I have had nothing but ill encounters with surfacers since I fled Beregost. Their constant spite burns within my soul. I spit on them! Oloth plynn nina!"

"Surely you do not include me in that?" he cried.

"You especially, with your condescending whining about light and goodness. My entire existence has been thus since I fled the Underdark. Surfacers hate drow without relent and I erred in thinking otherwise even for a moment!"

"You have been through more than I can imagine Viconia, but you are wrong. Many surfacers have been kind to you!" Rasaad retorted. The first examples who sprang to mind were Arowan and Jaheira, but even he was not so clueless as to imagine that bringing _them _up was a good idea. "Freya was a surfacer!"

"Freya was a dog!" Viconia snapped.

Rasaad stared at her appalled, and the cleric backtracked.

"I mean in the literal sense," she said, more steadily. "I trusted her loyalty as I would that of a hound or a pet spider. Canine affection is unconditional… well… that and she wasn't bright enough to betray me… but I stand by my point about the rest of you!"

She picked up her half-finished bowl and retreated to her room, leaving Rasaad alone. Her spoon lay forgotten on the table. The monk picked it up and twisted it back and forth, watching how the light from the window reflected from its surface. He could take it to her and attempt to continue their conversation, but perhaps it would be wiser to postpone until she was in a better mood.

Roran Midfallow's name loomed in his mind, and his fist clenched around the unfortunate piece of cutlery. When he released it, it was crumpled like a slip of card. It was the Moon Maiden who had granted him such strength. At this point his physical powers extended far beyond what mere training and exercise made possible. Battling dragons and demon lords had earned her favour. If he were to lose Selune's benevolence then he would be nothing more than a man and his chance to avenge his brother would be lost.

"I will never embrace the darkness," he told himself. Still, he could not help hoping that Viconia might be persuaded to step into the light.


	22. Windspear Hills

At first Arowan kept her hood up, as the party set out for the Windspear Hills. Jaheira was sure to disapprove, if not of the Charisma Ring itself, then certainly of where she had got it. She did not trust Dorn an inch either, far from it. Yet she had put it on and nothing bad had happened. The little band would slip off again with no resistance at all. Every mage and cleric who they showed it to had agreed that it was exactly what it seemed to be.

It turned out to have only one unpleasant side effect, and it was not one for which she could hold Dorn Il-Khan responsible. The ranger discovered it as they made their journey south.

Leaves whipped around their faces in a dry but determined gale. The wind was against the ranger, and finally she gave up fighting to keep her hood up. She let a gust huff it down and tied her soft, glossy hair into as tight-a-ponytail as was possible without yanking it out. It was satisfying to hear Viconia's sharp little intake of breath behind her.

"If there's nothing wrong with the ring itself," she said to Yoshimo, raising her voice a little to be heard above the weather, "Then whatever Dorn's master wants me to use my high charisma for, I'd need to _choose _to do it. He's going to try to trick me. We should be on our guard."

"Weren't we already?" asked the thief. The howling wind blew moisture from his eyes. It made it look like he was crying until his mouth split into a wicked grin. "Now speaking of the need to be on your guard…"

Anomen was approaching her. Arowan, who normally had the luxury of laughing at his courting attempts while never being the subject of them, was totally unprepared. She watched, baffled, as Yoshimo stepped sleekly from her side so that he could watch the fun from a safe distance.

"My lady!" the knight greeted her jovially. She looked around automatically to check who he was talking to, but Minsc's party were some way ahead of them while Viconia and Jaheira were lagging behind.

The young cleric was beaming at her with a warm, friendly smile. It was a sharp contrast to the patronizing indifference with which he normally approached their conversations. Then she caught sight of Yoshimo stuffing his sleeve into his mouth, and remembered that she was wearing the ring.

Jaheira was glaring at her suspiciously. Something was different, but with the wind whipping her hair over her face, and her figure disguised by thick warm clothing, it was not immediately obvious what. If she took the ring off now, however, the transformation would be instant. She'd have no plausible deniability and the druid would know. She mouthed 'help me,' at the Kara-Turan, who shook his head merrily in reply.

Yoshimo was having far too much fun, and Arowan unwisely decided to punish him for it.

"My lord Anomen!" she smiled, fluttering her newly darker and longer lashes. Yoshimo's smile vanished instantly. "I was meaning to compliment you on your battle prowess back in Trademeet. That Rakshasa had no idea what hit her!"

This was literally true, for Anomen had bludgeoned the creature from behind. Still, he had also lugged the dripping head around a steaming druid swamp and back to the genies who had been plaguing the town. That was certainly worth some points.

"True, true," Anomen agreed, with his usual modesty. "But I did not come over to talk about myself."

"You astonish me," the ranger replied, before she could stop herself. Charisma, it seemed, had not stripped her of her sarcasm, but it did seem to make the cleric less inclined to notice it.

"My lady, I have been watching you intently these past few hours, and I have come to a conclusion about you. Would you like to hear my thoughts?"

"That depends on what they are," Arowan replied warily, "But almost certainly not."

Leaves danced around their ankles before being blown further down the road. The wind was penetrating the gaps in his armour, making a faint but irritating whistling noise. Yoshimo stepped a little closer so that he could hear them over the sound, but the cleric was too preoccupied to notice.

"You are a most free-spirited lady. From what I hear, you have enjoyed with abandon all the things in life that I have always denied myself," Anomen told her. "I have refrained from the pleasures that you indulge in so willingly with Rasaad, Coran and who knows how many others? It is not proper for a knight of the Order to be so unbecoming, but I am under no such restrictions now!"

He said this with the air of a liege lord handing a beggar an extra-large coin purse. It was more forward than anything he had put to the others and she could not imagine what had possessed him. For a moment, Yoshimo thought that the ranger's eyes might pop out of her head and roll away.

"Good for you?" she hazarded.

"I am glad to hear you think so my lady!" Anomen replied, with great enthusiasm. "You are a beautiful woman Arowan (I cannot believe that I had not noticed it before) and full of a life that I have always desired. I wish to experience new things, now that I am free… and I wish to be closer to you."

Yoshimo appeared to be in danger of pissing his breeches with laughter. Luckily his wheezing was masked by the sound of the wind. Arowan shot him a look that could have melted bricks.

"Nope. No merchant discount in the world is worth this," she snapped. Not only was the cleric making an unbelievably bold pass at her, but she was pretty sure that he had just implied he was a virgin. Which, frankly, she could have guessed, but was more than she wanted to know. "The ring has to go."

She pulled it off and resumed her normal appearance. Sadly, it did not have the effect on Anomen that she was hoping for. Far from her normal lack of charisma hitting him like a cold shower, he seemed to think that the beauty being fake helped his case.

"Ah, so it is a magical device that has turned you from plain to alluring," the cleric grinned knowingly. "Fear not sweet lady, there is no harm in that. I'll not fall away so easily. You have captured my heart with your enchanting spirit, Arowan, and there is naught that I can do to resist you. Slip on the ring tonight and I shall slip you from your…"

"Woah!" Arowan cried, backing away sharply. "No, no, no, no, no. Not interested."

"Ah, do not worry, I have heard how little love you have for courtly romance. Do not be concerned that you will break my heart for I seek but a night or two. I know better than to try and tie a girl like you down!" he laughed.

"What in Ilmater's name do you mean '_a girl like me?_'"

"Why, one so liberal with her favours! Ha ha! Pray, do not take it as a slight my lady, for I am quite won over by the merits of looser morals. I am well rid of the Order and now my chains have been lifted. Do you understand me? Good food wine and women! I long to laugh and do as I like... and by Helm I shall!" He was approaching her as fast as she was retreating, and before she knew what was happening, his hands were on her waist. "No romance, no flowers, just fun and freedom, am I right?"

Arowan cursed Dorn inwardly for inflicting the ring on her. She had not expected anything good to come from a demon's present, but this…? Anomen's hand snaked around her waist.

Unfortunately for the Helmite, Dorn had given her rather more than a ring. On the road to Dragonspear he had also provided lessons in hand to hand combat. She had never achieved anything close to the Blackguard's skill, but she was as competent as your average city guard. What's more Dorn had never wasted her time with 'we learn martial arts so that we don't have to use them' nonsense. Fighting fair was not a concept that had featured heavily in his tutorage.

"Turn me away or scorn me, I'll not fall so easily!" Anomen declared ardently. "Allow me one kiss on your petal lips, and I shall be to heaven bound! Only… put the ring back on first."

Whatever the inexperienced cleric had learned about romance was clearly wrong. She suspected it mostly came from the ravings of his alcoholic father and boasting in the Order dormitories by other, equally clueless young men. In his mind, women were either noble maidens and wives, or wanton succubae with insatiable appetites for sleeping with anyone and anything. The former, like Jaheira and Aerie, were worthy of high romance. The latter, like Neera and Viconia, required a more direct approach.

It was pretty obvious which category he had filed Arowan under.

She felt sorry for him, but not nearly sorry enough. Her knee swung up sharply, closely followed by her fist connecting with his nose. There was a loud crack, and the cleric stumbled backward cursing. He curled up like a wounded hedgehog, moaning. Both his hands were pressed to his face, but blood was oozing between his fingers.

"Er… don't make me do that again. That is to say… erm…" she said awkwardly. Perhaps taking off the Charisma Ring had been a mistake. With it, she might have thought of the perfect thing to say to put him off, without injuring him. It was too late for that now, but perhaps it might help with damage control. She popped the ring back on, just on the off-chance and a rather Freya-like response found itself on the tip of her tongue.

"Bugger off Anomen, there's a good chap!"

* * *

* * *

People came running from all directions. Someone from Minsc's party happened a glance back, there was yelling and soon the berserker was pelting up the road toward them. Boo rode on his shoulder like a furry orange parrot. Behind him ran Neera and Aerie. Hexxat walked.

If Arowan was worried about how the others would respond, she needn't have been. Yoshimo reached her first, and placed himself between her and Anomen, in case the cleric took it into his head to retaliate.

"That's my girl!" Jaheira laughed proudly. "How I wish Khalid were here to see this!"

"That was almost worthy of a drow! Who knew you had it in you?" Viconia cried approvingly. Then she remembered that she detested Arowan. She looked ruefully at Rasaad, and added defensively; "I said _almost._"

"I must agree," Rasaad nodded. "In truth, Arowan, had this event occurred before our last conversation, I would have been far less resolute about the outcome."

Arowan rolled her eyes at him, but not in a mean way and the corner of her lip turned up a little. When they had first met, he would never have dared to make a joke like that, but so much had changed.

"Too soon Rasaad," she replied. "Much too soon."

"I apologise for my misguided attempt to… ah… lighten the mood."

"Are we to take it then that your nauseating little dalliance has finally run its course?" Viconia asked them sharply. She was attempting to appear vicious but her real reason for asking couldn't be clearer.

"Yes Viconia, you have a clear shot," sighed Arowan, rolling her eyes for the second time in as many minutes. "Have at it."

"I have no idea what you are talking about, ridiculous rivvil!" she snapped and strode away up the path. Her silver hair fanned behind her in the wind, and she was swinging her hips far more than was natural, doubtless for Rasaad's benefit.

The ranger watched her walk away and was rewarded by catching the drow look over her shoulder to take another look at her new appearance. Rasaad suddenly seemed intensely interested in his hands. Perhaps baiting them at this stage wasn't very kind, but since Viconia never passed up an opportunity to be cruel to her, Arowan did not care.

"Oh, poor Anomen, what happened?" Aerie cried, squatting down by the stricken cleric. She healed his nose swiftly, eyes wide with concern.

"I hit him."

"Foulsome wench!" spat the failed knight. "Why would a woman magically enhance her appearance if not to lure men?"

Arowan was tempted to curse at him or ignore him, neither of which would really help matters. Instead she held out a hand and pulled him to his feet. He glared at her with misplaced resentment.

The others hovered, unsure whether they ought to do something to placate the feuding pair, but she waved them on. Once they were out of earshot, she answered his question.

"Oddly enough, in my case I upped my charisma to talk Sir Keldorn out of ruining the lives of his entire family," she replied mildly. "Not to lure men. And truth be told, I kept it on afterwards mainly to annoy Viconia. Women are people, Anomen, and it is rarely wise to assume that you know why people behave the way they do. I usually lean on the side of giving others the benefit of the doubt. Otherwise I would assume that you were an irredeemable arsehole."

"Why you…"

"As opposed to a battered child with the potential to recover."

Anomen said nothing, but it was clear that she had struck a nerve. Normally she would shrivel away from such a touchy-feely conversation, but the Charisma Ring was telling her to press on with it. Every so often one of the others would look back at them fearing (or possibly hoping) that their discussion might descend into violence again, but Arowan felt sure that the danger had passed.

"How are you faring Anomen?" she asked. It was as kind a tone as she could muster to someone who had just described her as having loose morals and called her a foulsome wench.

The cleric stared bleakly into the distance, as the wind blew his hair from his face. Blood from his freshly healed nose was drying on his lip, but he seemed past caring enough to wipe it clean.

"As well… as well as can be expected my lady."

"Arowan," she corrected him gently.

"I have some purpose again, as protector of the Servant of all Faiths. Without that I believe I would be faring much worse," he said. "It is just taking some getting used to. You do not understand what it means to lose everything. It is… difficult to accept."

Arowan nodded and listened to him until Jaheira declared that it was time to stop and make camp. His childhood was much as she had assumed, and his life in the Order arduous. He simultaneously had no life experience and rather too much.

She listened as patiently as she could, but ultimately Anomen was right, she didn't understand him. Though she had been miserable often enough she was, by nature, a stoic. Depression was something that she had always been able to lift herself out of by simply getting on with things. While she knew in her head that not all people were willing or able to do the same, the truth was that moping got on her nerves. She couldn't help it. There was someone in the party who might be more sympathetic, however.

That evening, bringing Yoshimo with her, she approached Rasaad as the monk prepared for his evening meditations.

"How may I enlighten you?" he asked.

"Would you consider sharing some of your monkish serenity with Anomen?" she asked.

"With the greatest of respect to our mutual friend, he does not strike me as the serene type," Rasaad replied, peeling off his shirt and settling himself into the lotus pose. It was the first time that Yoshimo had seen the monk shirtless, and it was impossible even for someone as laid back as he was not to be a little intimidated. The ranger, however, had seen it all before and was unimpressed.

"You're meditating bare chested even in this wind? Rather you than me!" Arowan muttered. Even setting up the tents had been near impossible in this weather, and at least one person had to be sitting in them at any time to prevent them from blowing away. "I just mean talk to him. He has lost everything. His family and the Order that he devoted his life to. Kind of like… you. It struck me that you might understand him better than I can."

"I will try, but I fear I have little of comfort to say to him," Rasaad nodded sagely. "Since my brother's death I have found little joy in anything. Now I fall deeper into darkness as my quest draws me further from my friends in the Sun Soul."

"Ever heard the saying misery loves company? Just have a chat with Anomen, you miserable git," Arowan groaned. "And put your shirt back on."

She returned to camp with Yoshimo, leaving Rasaad to contemplate the moonlight reflecting from a random pebble. When they had first met, she had watched him meditate and thought him tremendously disciplined and wise. Now she found him rather dull. Perhaps focussing one's mind on a stone might provoke some profound, enlightening thoughts… first time around. But every day for years? She suspected that he spent most of his meditation time daydreaming.

"So this is your monk? He is very muscular, is he not?" Yoshimo said. He tried to make it sound like a casual observation, but she thought she detected a flicker of worry in his shining eyes.

"Why Yoshimo, you surprise me. I had no idea you were interested in that sort of thing," she teased lightly.

"No!" he said hastily. "I mean not for myself. I mean… mmph."

She kissed him, enjoying the brush of his beard against her face. In response he cupped her cheek tenderly, feeling her warm body pressed against his own, a shield from the wind that still howled about them. By the time they returned to camp, his brief brush with jealousy had already dissolved, for he was sure that her affection was his, and his alone.

* * *

* * *

The next day of walking passed without event and they made camp at the base of the Windspear Hills. Rasaad and Anomen had spent most of the day in each other's company, and by the end of it both men seemed happier.

Arowan scratched at the Charisma Ring with her thumbnail. So far it was bringing so much good, but why Ur-Gothoz had gifted it to her still bothered her. Yoshimo was slicing roots for their supper and she watched his quick clever hands work with a fond smile.

"Boo hates goodbyes, but here we must part once more!" Minsc cried. "We shall hasten to Neera's Hidden Refuge, to defend the tiny magelings from evil Red Wizards. Join us there when you have freed the poor dryad ladies."

Little Boo squeaked his farewell and Minsc departed with Aerie, Neera and Hexxat following. Anomen waved them off with a soppy romantic smile, but it was impossible to say which of the ladies he was mooning over now.

The ranger waved them off good humouredly, and Minsc delicately lifted Boo's tiny paw to make him wave back. A sharp finger prodded her in the shoulder. She turned around to find Viconia glaring at her.

"Rivvil!" snapped Viconia. "You have not even attempted to hunt anything in as long as I can remember. I do not see you doing anything useful. Go and fetch me some rabbits!"

Rude though the demand was, she was at least not threatening violence. This was the closest thing to a civil interaction that the pair of them had had, since Durlag's Tower. If they were going to be stuck with each other, she might as well make an effort, though doubtless it would be thrown in her face at some point.

"Alright Viconia, let's go," she said, hoisting her pack onto her back and rising stiffly to her feet.

"Me? I do not use a bow and arrow," the Sharran replied haughtily.

"You don't hunt rabbits with a bow, you snare them," Arowan replied. "We can set a few tonight and check them in the morning. Come on. I'll show you."

The drow glared at her mistrustfully. Yet it seemed unlikely that after saving her from the stake, the ranger would throttle her in the woods. If she did, it would be an excellent excuse to defend herself with lethal force. So they set out together. They had not gone far, however, when they heard voices.

Stranger danger was a concept with which both women were very familiar. Instinctively, they moved off the path and crouched in a clump of dense bushes. Presently a strange party marched before them. Several ogres and a gnoll, with a baby wyvern fluttering along behind them.

"Ajantis, we have been combing this wood for hours without a hint of an ogre," whinged the wyvern. "What if your lead was wrong?"

"I tell you, Lord Firkraag described Tazok perfectly. He is here. He must be!" The largest ogre snapped, frustratedly. Ogres generally did not have the most expressive faces, but this one seemed distressed. "I… It's late. I seem to remember a sheltered grove five minutes west of our position. We can make camp for tonight but tomorrow the hunt must go on. I owe it to Kivan and the others."

"It was a long time ago," one of the other ogres said, placing a chunky hand on his arm. Arowan squinted at them. They were not behaving nor speaking like any ogres she had ever encountered. "Nothing you can do will rewrite the past. Don't you think it's time to let it go?"

The ogre named Ajantis pulled a thick journal from his pocket and looked at it thoughtfully.

"Nothing can rewrite the past? We'll see…" he mumbled. Then he seemed to come to his senses and thrust the diary safely away. "But for now we must deal with Tazok. Regardless of Kivan, that monster is a threat wherever he goes. If he is lurking in this region then our duty as paladins is to put a stop to him. Onward men!"

Viconia and Arowan watched them go.

"Well that was weird," muttered the ranger.

"They're headed back to our camp!" Viconia hissed. "We have to warn the others."

"There's no way we can make it back before they do," Arowan whispered. She didn't like to assume that the ogres would attack them based purely on their species, but the fact was that her party had yet to meet an ogre who didn't try to kill them on sight. "We'd better follow them. Have you got any invisibility spells? I don't fancy taking on that lot just the two of us."

"I have Silence memorized," Viconia suggested. "It'll mute our footsteps so that we can follow them more easily without getting caught."

"That'll do," Arowan grinned. "Come to think of it, have you considered casting silence on yourself? I mean permanently? You might find it easier to get along with people as a mute."

"Have you considered using those rabbit snares of yours on the males?" Viconia retorted. "That way you might be able to keep hold of one of them for longer than five minutes at a time."

With these words, Arowan realised something which ought to have been obvious from the moment Anomen started attempting to paw at her. She stiffened, then with a rustle of leaves, she twisted around in the bush, livid.

"It was you!" she seethed. "You told Anomen about Coran and Rasaad and convinced him that I'd be interested in…"

Viconia cast her silencing spell and the ranger's words were cut off. Her lips continued to move furiously but no sound came out. The drow was smiling gleefully at her, looking much too pleased with herself. Arowan made up her mind to retaliate at the next opportunity.

The time for that was not now, however. They crept silently in the shadows of the trees after Ajantis the Ogre and his companions.

* * *

* * *

"Beasts! Curs! Your rampage of terror ends here!"

The ogres burst into camp, their pet wyvern flapping above their heads and snapping its tiny jaws savagely.

"Ogres!" cried Yoshimo, dropping the vegetable knife and snatching up his katana. Rasaad jumped to his feet, ready to fight and Anomen scrambled around trying to remember where he'd put his shield. Jaheira, however, was hesitant.

"You are awfully eloquent for a beast of your size," she said archly. "We should talk for a moment."

"No more words!" Ajantis cried. "I have had more words from the followers of Tazok than I could stomach in a thousand lifetimes. Tell me where your master lurks and I shall hasten your passing!"

"We know not this Tazok," the druid replied, "Let us lay down our arms and discuss this sensibly."

"Your lies will trouble this land no longer!" the ogre raged. "Your crimes will trouble the people not a second more."

The ogres charged, as ogres are wont to do. Arowan drew back her bow and shot the wyvern. She was aiming for the eye, but it was a difficult shot, and instead it pierced its flank. The little creature gave a squeal of pain and thrashed its tail. The arrow stuck in its thigh, wobbling with the monster's movements.

"That's not right," she muttered. Wyverns' scaly hides were almost as thick as those of a dragon. An ordinary arrow, even from a bow like hers and even against a baby, should not be able to break through its natural armour. Between that and the creatures' peculiar speech she was certain that they were being tricked. "STOP! STOP, IT'S NOT A REAL WYVERN!"

Unfortunately, Viconia's silencing spell still lingered over her, and nobody heard a word.

The drow was already racing past her, on silent feet, and ran the lead ogre through with her flaming sword from behind. Rasaad ran full pelt at the nearest ogre and tackled it. The monster was not nearly as strong nor heavy as he had expected it to be. He cannoned into it, knocking it prone, then kept going, rolling forward over the monster and skidding to a halt in the grass.

"What the…" he muttered. He too realised that something was off and he stared intently, searching for some sign of trap or illusion.

Yoshimo and Anomen had an ogre and a gnoll. Both men were finding the battle unexpectedly straightforward. Especially once Jaheira had wrapped her entangling roots about the assailant's legs. They plunged their blades into the monsters' chests at the same moment. In a really quite spectacular move, the thief vaulted from his ogre's falling head, using it as a springboard to leap onto the wyvern's neck and wrestle it to the floor. Anomen's mace swung down to crush the creature's skull.

"NO, NO!" Arowan hollered silently, gesturing with her hands. There was only one ogre left, the one that Rasaad had knocked down. She sprinted toward it but Jaheira, in bear form, got there first.

Using his focussed meditation, which was not really so useless as the ranger supposed, the monk managed to briefly see the ogre for what it was. A stricken knight in armour, looking up in terror at the approaching bear paw.

"NO DON'T!" he shouted, but it was too late. The bear's huge claws ripped the face, helmet and all, from the man and with his death the illusion lifted.

Knights and squires, all bearing the emblem of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart, lay dead at their feet. For all his bluster about how little he cared for the Order now, Anomen was beside himself.

"Helm's beard, what have we done?" he moaned. "A most foul ruse has been played upon this company! Innocents are slain, the lifeblood of the Order stains the ground at my feet. What have we done? By all the gods, what have we done?"

"Cease your blubbering male!" said Viconia, removing her silencing spell. "We were attacked and had to defend ourselves."

"Faithless fool!" Anomen retorted. "You do not understand the import of this event. These are paladins of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart. I know this man, Ajantis. He is a noble man, but now is dead, and by our hand."

The party bent over the bodies to check that this was indeed the case. It seemed repulsive under the circumstances to loot the men's belongings, but they took their insignias to return to the Order, and Yoshimo found a journal on the body of the one called Ajantis. Hoping that it might explain the situation, he picked it up and flicked through at random.

His eyes widened as he read, and while the others were distracted with the dead, he slipped the diary into his pack. Yoshimo's heart started to hammer, for in his brief inspection of the object one name had cropped up over and over. _Bubbles._

"We are stained with this dishonour, and the Order will demand justice," Anomen told them. "They will hunt us to the ends of the world for this crime."

"After everything this party has done for the Order?" Jaheira spluttered indignantly.

"They cannot possibly believe that we would do such a thing on purpose!" cried Rasaad.

"You must be joking, right?" Arowan asked him, her fingers tugging at her hair in distress. "Look at our party Rasaad. I'm a Bhaalspawn and a numbing potion addict! Anomen is a cast-off knight. We have a drow and we have you- a man who has been going around publicly beating up Sun Soul Monks. Of course they'll believe we did it!"

"Loathe though I am to admit it, she's right," Viconia nodded. "We are… how do you surfacers put it? Toast."


	23. The Diary of Ajantis Ilvastarr

Ajantis and his dead followers lay sprawled at their feet. Who could despise the party enough to want to trick them so? Their first thought was Irenicus, but that made no sense. For Arowan to work as his backup Bhaalspawn he needed her alive and free of numbing potions. The Order of the Radiant Heart had done his hard work for him by spending months weaning her off them. If anything, they were aiding him. He had no reason to do this.

Their only clue was the conversation that Arowan and Viconia had overheard. Ajantis had been searching for an ogre named Tazok, and the man who had persuaded him to come to Windspear to search for him was called Lord Firkraag.

"What goes on here?" cried a gravelly voice, before the party could decide on what to do.

"Who are you?" barked Arowan, checking that the Charisma Ring was safely on her finger. If they ever had need of it, it was now.

Out of the bushes clumped a sturdy but tired man, fast transitioning from middle-age to old. His kind, crinkly eyes were a pale blue and his clothes faded and worn. They might have mistaken him for a peasant, were it not for the family crest painted on his shield and the great red plume upon his helm.

"My name is Garren Windspear, but a better question might be, who are you to change shape so readily? Why have you slain your fellow beasts who become men?"

"It appears that we have been tricked into killing these knights," Jaheira replied, edgily. "From their few words it would seem that we looked as monsters to them, just as they appeared to us."

"That is the conclusion that I have come to too," Garren replied gravely, "Though the priests of Helm will not believe what has happened. They will seek justice, and only your heads will suffice."

There was some muttering in the party at this. Viconia immediately suggested that they split up into pairs and flee, while Anomen furiously insisted that they must find the party responsible and clear their names. Walking away was an option, but it was likely that they would be caught by scrying spells. Real murderers took precautions against such magical investigation but they, of course, had not intended any of this.

"What do you suggest we do?" Arowan asked Garren.

"Why are we asking him?" whispered Viconia, urgently. "He might well be the wizard who cast this illusion."

"This man is dressed as a knight at most, not a liege lord. We overheard Ajantis say that he was invited here by one Lord Firkraag," she said. At the mention of the name Garren stiffened in alarm. "You know of him, Sir? It seems likely that he was involved."

"Likely indeed," muttered Garren. "I suggest that you take sanctuary with me until we can discover how this unfortunate event came to pass. Trust me, I know a great deal about this 'Lord' Firkraag…"

They followed him on a twenty minute hike to his manor in the woods. It was a large brick structure, though the roof was overgrown with ivy and the windows dark with grime. Once it must have been very grand, but it was too large for a man without servants to maintain and despite Garren Windspear's best efforts it was falling into disrepair.

"This looks like the hunting lodge of a wealthy lord," Jaheira remarked. "Who are you?"

"I was once Lord Windspear and ruler of these lands, and had many holds across the heart of Amn," he sighed. "Now, thanks to Firkraag, this is all that remains. He discredited me because he sought my lands. There were missing people only he could find, banditry that only he could stop. Solutions to problems that I'm sure he caused. The people lost faith in me and my influence crumbled."

"And now he is targeting us," observed the druid.

"Or perhaps he was targeting this Ajantis-male," Viconia pointed out. "He, after all, was invited here by Firkraag. We are only here because… remind me why you dragged us to this filthy little backwater?"

"There are dryads trapped in Irenicus's lair," said Arowan. "Returning their acorns to their faerie kin in this region is the only way to release them, since they cannot leave their trees."

"Once again your profitless do-gooding rears up to bite us," the drow observed.

"You are quite right Viconia, I have learned my lesson," she replied pleasantly. "Next time I see you bound to a pyre I will walk away and let you burn to death." The drow hissed at her, and Arowan treated her to her most sarcastic smile. "Unless they're selling toasting marshmallows, in which case I'll stick around and watch. I do enjoy a good bonfire."

"Whether you were Firkraag's original target or not is irrelevant now," Garren told them, ignoring the bickering pair. "The Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart will seek your deaths if something is not done quickly."

"Is there nothing you can do to aid us, sir?" asked Anomen.

Garren beckoned them inside. Though the mansion was large, all of the exits leading from the entrance hall were dark. A fire roared beneath the central chimney, which was a welcome escape from the wind. They noticed that a cooking pot hung over it, and three beds had been arranged in the room. It was quite comfortable, but it seemed that he had moved the family in here and abandoned the rest of the property.

His servant and an androgynous teenager were poking the pot with a ladle. It reminded the party that they had left their food and tents behind them in the wood, but that seemed to be the least of their problems now.

"I have friends among the Order," he said. "I shall ride for Athkatla and tell them what I saw. Perhaps I can persuade them to look upon you with mercy. I can but try."

"We thank you for this," Jaheira told him, "You are most kind."

"Dammit!" Arowan exclaimed suddenly. They all stared at her. "Sorry, you mentioned riding and I… er… forgot the horses we bought in Trademeet," she admitted, "The poor things are still at the Mithrest and I only paid their stable space for a couple of nights. I hope they don't end up in the tavern stew."

"You're worried about that _now?_" cried Anomen and Viconia with one voice, leaving her feeling rather foolish.

"I can collect your horses," Lord Windspear said with a faint smile. "Any enemy of Lord Firkraag is a friend of mine. Make my home yours until I return with good news."

He and his child donned their cloaks and set out for Athkatla. The isolated teen seemed excited about the chance to visit the city. Lord Windspear's servant set off to retrieve their bedrolls and tents. It was an activity likely to take all evening and the whole of the following day. He was going alone and would need to make many trips, since Garren felt it unwise for the group to venture outside before their names were cleared.

* * *

* * *

In the meantime they had no choice but to take the man up on his generous offer, finishing off the stew and raiding his pantry like locusts for bread and cheese. Arowan did risk setting a few snares in the yard so as not to trespass too much on his hospitality.

"You know, Viconia?" Arowan said, as she showed the drow how to tie a snare. "You mustn't say things like that on the surface."

"I knew exactly what I was saying to Anomen about you, rivvil, and it was intended to offend," the Sharran sneered. "Besides it was perfectly true. You are on your third male in under a year. What was it Anomen said? Ah yes; 'you would think that such a homely lass would have been more guarded with her maidenhead. Helm knows she has little else to offer.'"

The ranger took a deep breath and counted to ten in her head. It had been a while since she and Viconia had tried each other's power physically, and the temptation was there. Fortunately, the ranger had a more subtle punishment in mind. Little did Viconia know that Arowan was exacting a petty vengeance even as they spoke.

"No, no, I wasn't talking about that!" the ranger replied in a hushed voice. "I mean what you said after we killed those paladins. About us being… you know… the T-word!"

"T-word?" Viconia asked, wracking her brain for what the other woman could be referring to. "You mean _toast?_"

"Shhh!" the ranger hushed her urgently. "You must never say that unless you are specifically talking about bread products. It is the foulest insult in our language."

"I have never heard any surfacer use 'toast' as an insult," the drow scoffed.

"I'm not surprised," Arowan replied emphatically. "It is a lethal cuss. Even the most savage monsters that stalk our lands hesitate to say it. In some orc tribes, referring to another as the t-word automatically sparks a fight to the death. They burned a visiting Calishite in the marketplace once in Baldur's Gate because he called a Grand Duke a slice of t-word without realising what it meant!"

"I had no idea," Viconia shuddered. "It reminds one of the pitfalls of being a stranger in a foreign land. Such a fate might easily have befallen me. Who would have thought that toast- of all words- would cause you rivvil such outrage?"

"_Please _stop saying it!" Arowan begged her. "Here. Loop this rope through the hanging one and pull against the stick in this direction. There! You're done! With any luck we'll have bunnies for breakfast."

"How was I supposed to know not to say the… ah… t-word?" Viconia asked defensively. "Can we go back inside now? It's freezing out here."

"Of course, Viconia. I'll finish off the last snares by myself," Arowan said indulgently. When the door clicked shut and the drow was out of earshot she added, "You steaming buttered toast rack."

* * *

* * *

The days that followed were tedious, stuck as they were in the one little room, and the weather outside grew wild. Garren's unfortunate servant, whose job it was to venture out into the endless rain and piercing winds kept muttering at them resentfully, but by the end of the first day the party would have braved any storm to go outside.

On the pretext of finding something to do, Yoshimo set out to explore the rest of the house, and Arowan followed. What he really wanted, however, was to read the diary of Ajantis Ilvastarr in private. He found a room which was cold and empty but not locked. The branches of a rogue tree had broken through the window and he sat on one, pulling open the book that he had been itching to investigate since he first saw Bubbles's name inside.

The ranger hovered over his shoulder listening to the more interesting passages. Since she was only semi-literate, her main contribution was to pretend to kiss his neck when the others poked their heads around the door, to get them to go away.

Ajantis, it seemed, had been researching ways to cast resurrection spells without a body. With a jolt, Arowan recognized the name of his target. Draxle, one of the Candlekeep Bhaalspawn, and long since gone to the Abyss. The first two-thirds of the journal consisted of the knight's extensive, but ultimately useless, research from the Order library. These were regularly interspersed with tragic verses of poetry (both in the sense that Draxle's life was a tragedy and that the poems themselves were tragically bad). Arowan cringed and insisted that Yoshimo skim over these.

It was the last part of the diary that began to get interesting. Ajantis recorded a chance meeting in the library with a 'repugnant courtesan' named Bubbles, and at this point his own research ceased. Instead a series of dated diary entries were listed recording their meetings.

_This woman has a sense of… evil about her. I suspect her of dabbling in necromantic activities. My first tenant as a paladin is that evil must be purged without mercy, but the second is that duty to one's cause outweighs all. Never have the two been so conflicted…_

"Poor kid," muttered Arowan. It was obvious from the highlights that Yoshimo read aloud that he and Draxle had been romantically involved. Despite never having met her, Arowan had a soft spot for this particular Bhaalspawn. She had the impression that Draxle had been better suited to the life of a noblewoman than an adventurer, and was, perhaps, a little vain and silly. Yet she alone had noticed how Gorion excluded Imoen, stood up to him, and insisted that he stop.

_I have failed my love, and must atone, yet I refuse to fall into depravity in the process! Feigning interest in Bubbles and her revolting 'services' makes me sick to my stomach. Would that there were a more worthy way to keep in contact. My honour is my life, and I am determined to discover some means to hire this fetid harlot which does not involve sacrificing it. Truth be told, so disgusting is this whore, that it fills me with no small wonder that there are men physically capable of performing the marital act with her, even amongst those depraved enough to try._

"Heh, heh. He was a brave man to put such words to paper, yes?" Yoshimo grinned. Arowan gave him a look, and he desisted. "I wonder, was he simply unaware of what Bubbles had the power to do to him, had she ever read this?"

"Bubbles doesn't strike me as the type to go in for pointless cruelty," the ranger mused. "Just because she could have destroyed him for insulting her, doesn't necessarily mean that she would."

_I have found a 'service' that I can purchase from Bubbles that requires neither dishonour nor physical contact. Though still I shudder to name it here._

"The mind boggles!" Yoshimo remarked. It did not boggle for long.

As he read on they learnt of how Ajantis had convinced Bubbles that he had a guilt fetish. The necromancer had been killing him over and over again in varied ways in her hovel, then bringing him back. He insisted that the method be different each time in the hopes that she would eventually make a mistake. They read on until, in one of the most recent diary entries, his desperate plan bore fruit.

_Today my opportunity finally came. Bubbles left me alive in the coffin. The pain was indescribable, but Helm granted me courage, and I lay there as though dead. The trollop went out, leaving me with those abominations Shank and Carbos. Turn Undead sent the wretches crawling into their cupboard, and I hope they lack the intelligence to report back to their mistress. _

_When I was certain that I was alone, I crept from my coffin and perused her notes. She has compiled a ritual to restore the Bhaalspawn necromancer, Eric. From what I can tell nothing now stands in her way bar the acquisition of the Ring of Gaax. By draining this powerful artefact she will be able to summon one soul, and only one, from the Abyss._

_The time to act is soon. At the end of the ritual Bubbles will cry out the word 'Vita' followed by the name of the Bhaalspawn she means to summon. I must find a way to be present at this event. Before she can call for Eric, I will call for Draxle._

_No doubt, this will be my end. The strumpet is well practised in slaughtering me and this time I will not be brought back. I do not believe that Bubbles will take her wrath out on my poor lady, but if she does, then I will at last fall defending my love as I should have done in the first place._

Yoshimo stopped reading. Neither of them spoke. The thief pressed a finger into the spine of the diary, pushing out a tiny lead pencil that had been concealed within it. Then, with a significant look at Arowan, he scratched out the name 'Draxle' and wrote another in its place.

_Sarevok Anchev._


	24. Lord Firkraag

"No."

"Why not?" demanded Yoshimo, snapping the diary shut. "We both know that Draxle had a lucky escape. Ajantis would have been doing the poor girl no favours by bringing her back, only to die at the hands of Irenicus."

"You think _we _won't die at his hands if we disrupt his precious ritual?" retorted Arowan.

"Not if he agrees to it in advance!" the thief insisted.

Arowan was staring at him wide-eyed as though he had suggested that they assault the mage's compound themselves. Surely their best chance of survival was Irenicus finding a substitute then not bothering to come after them. As far as she was concerned, deliberately courting his attention was little short of lunacy.

"Have you gone mad?" she demanded. "He'll torture you just for asking!"

"Of course he won't," Yoshimo told her, eagerly. "Because in a sense he is facing the same problem that you are! If Eric refuses to come, then he is stuck with using you."

"Thanks for that," muttered Arowan. "Real vote of confidence there."

It was true though. She was not like the Hero of Baldur's Gate or the Scourge of Baeloth's Pits. Irenicus may not have laid out his complex plans in front of her, but if there was one thing that he had made abundantly clear, it was that not all Bhaalspawn were equal. She was among the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of minor Bhaalspawn. Those with only a little flame of their father's essence. The pillars of mediocrity on which the Cult of Bhaal's great plan was built.

Whereas for his purposes, Irenicus coveted the most powerful Bhaalspawn he could get.

"Listen," Yoshimo tried to reason with her, "There are three Bhaalspawn we know of who were substantially more powerful than all the others. Freya, Eric and Sarevok. Irenicus captured Eric and Freya in turn. But he never thought of Sarevok."

"Only because Sarevok died before Irenicus knew he was a Bhaalspawn!"

"Exactly! Only, thanks to our friend Bubbles, death is not the barrier it once was, yes?" he went on. "This solution works for everybody. Irenicus gets a powerful Bhaalspawn. Eric can stay hiding in the Abyss waiting to become a god… and you are off the hook."

"It won't suit Sarevok," she replied, snatching the diary from him and jabbing her finger at her dead brother's name. "He has no more cause to come back than Eric does."

Of course, Sarevok and Freya were not as clever as Eric. They might find it harder to resist the mage's 'invitation.' Arowan shook her head to rid herself of the thought. It was immoral, unthinkable! Sacrificing another to save herself was the sort of thing that Viconia would do.

Once more the grinning face of the lipless wolf loomed in Arowan's mind. It shivered in pain, fear and utter hopelessness as it realised that what had just happened to it was irreversible. She tried never to think about Freya's final moments, but when she did her terror could not be overstated. First time around she had been unable to bring herself to face Irenicus without numbing potions, even for Khalid and Jaheira. Was she prepared to face it now to spare Sarevok?

Deep down she knew the answer.

"Sarevok never knew Irenicus," Yoshimo pointed out. "I mean not really. All he knows is that Irenicus wants something with the Bhaalspawn, so that's what we'll tell him. Irenicus can open a connection and offer Sarevok his life back in return for his… ah… assistance."

"You assume he doesn't know about the mage's little experiments," Arowan replied dryly. "The dead Bhaalspawn know things we don't. Sarevok knew about the Servant of all Faiths after his death. I got the impression that he even knows what she is for."

"Did he strike you as omniscient?" Yoshimo asked. She thought about this, then shook her head. He watched a brown lock of escaped hair wave as she did so, then pushed it gently behind her ear. "Even the individual gods do not know everything, so he can't. If he knows about Viconia then someone down there must have told him something."

Sarevok had mentioned something about the other Bhaalspawn waiting in the Abyss, and a creature named Cespenar. Any one of them might have known more about the Servant of all Faiths than they did.

"Someone down there may have told him about Irenicus too," she said, determined to find a flaw in Yoshimo's plan that would make it unworkable.

"_Who's_ going to tell him? Freya?" Yoshimo demanded, rising from the branches that were invading this abandoned room and folding his arms. "You told me that she feels the same way about Sarevok that I do about her. What do you imagine? That the two of them are chatting away over tea and crumpets down there?"

Arowan knew that unless she could find some means to rid herself of Bhaal's taint she too would one day descend to the Abyss. If Freya was correct (and all the evidence pointed that way) then when the last Bhaalspawn died, they would all merge again to form the Lord of Murder. Normally she tried not to think about that either, for fear of it driving her insane, but now she let herself speculate on life in the abyssal waiting room.

"Not a chance," she admitted. "If I know Freya at all, then the Abyss will be a lot less 'boring' for Sarevok now that she's in it too. She'll seek him out, but not for conversation. He'd probably risk anything to get away from her."

"Then for Ilmater's sake, let us take this diary and show it to Irenicus!" Yoshimo pressed. "Arowan, this solves our problem."

"Don't bring Ilmater's name into this!" she cried, forgetting that the others might overhear. "We both know that this is wrong!"

The thief made an impatient noise and paced the room back and forth. Here was the sticking point, and the main reason he had not suggested using Freya. Arowan's excessive morality. He kept one eye on the door, waiting to see if her outburst would attract the rest of their party before saying anything else. Finally, he crossed the room to where Arowan was watching him stubbornly. He grasped her shoulders in both hands, earnestly trying to talk some sense into her.

"Crazy lady! Are we worrying about poor little Sarevok now?" he blasted. "A man so egotistical that merely being _part _of a god wasn't enough for him? A man who was ready to slaughter thousands to achieve ascendancy in his own right, and who sacrificed my sister in the process!"

"What about Bubbles?" Arowan countered. "You're forgetting her! She might not have killed Ajantis for insulting her in his diary, but had he succeeded in disrupting her ritual, she'd have eviscerated him cert and sure! Irenicus may agree to your plan, but she certainly won't."

"What Bubbles doesn't know won't kill her!" he replied. Then he cocked his head to one side, letting his black ponytail flop onto his shoulder. "Actually… I suppose it will. Failing to bring Eric back will break her geas. She'll die."

"That's murder, Yoshimo, how can you even be considering this?" Arowan whimpered.

"Bubbles can't retaliate if she's dead," the thief answered firmly.

Arowan looked appalled. She had been hoping, of course she had been hoping, that Eric would be dragged back from the Abyss so that Irenicus would lose interest in her again. How could she not want that? She was only human. Yet that had not required any direct action on her part. This was different.

"Bubbles is a necromancer, don't forget that," Yoshimo reminded her darkly. "We've seen her kill mercilessly when those duergar got in her way. She didn't think twice about sacrificing all those Shadow Thieves to break into Irenicus's compound. We're not talking about doing anything to her that she wouldn't do to us. If it helps, don't think of it as sacrificing Sarevok. Think of it as saving Eric."

"Eric probably couldn't be brought back anyway. That's a weak argument," replied Arowan, but she was wavering.

"If you're right and Eric can't be revived, then Bubbles will die either way," Yoshimo shrugged. "As for Sarevok, he was worse than Eric. Eric did what he did out of cowardice, to save himself from eternal pain. Sarevok was greedy for power and he was willing to start a war that would have killed thousands for the chance to get it. One of those two will become part of a god. Think of that! Which should it be? Eric? Or Sarevok?"

This had always been Freya's theory. The souls of the dead Bhaalspawn would eventually merge and Bhaal would return, only different from before. A blending of all those personalities, memories and experiences. Somebody was about to lose their vote in the decisions of one of the most powerful entities in the cosmos. Sarevok, Eric or herself.

"You have a point," she frowned. "But I need to think about this."

Think she did. For the following days until Garren Windspear's return from Athkatla, she sat hunched in a ball, staring at the fire. Only when it was her turn to collect firewood from the shed outside did she stray from it. It was up to Viconia to triumphantly claim the rabbits from the snares. When Anomen came to her with her doses of numbing potion, she waved him away.

Going cold turkey made her feel rather shaky and ill, but Yoshimo's suggestion was exactly the sort of decision that should not be made under the influence of numbing potions. Withdrawal did give her an excuse to sit shivering by the fire and not engaging with the others. By the time Garren returned she felt weak but ok. What's more, she had made up her mind.

The question boiled down to whether she was prepared to sacrifice herself to Irenicus's experiments in order to spare Sarevok. How good an Ilmatari was she really? The girl who had fled Candlekeep would never have agreed to this plan, but that girl had not yet witnessed Freya being skinned alive.

"We'll do it," Arowan whispered to Yoshimo, knowing that once again she was crossing a moral line that could not be uncrossed. "We use Sarevok."

* * *

* * *

Garren returned from Athkatla in a terrible state. His face was bleeding from cuts and bruises and an arrow stuck out from his shoulder. Someone had slung his body over his horse and tied him to it. The animal had found its way home, and when they dragged him down from the saddle, they were relieved to discover that he still drew breath.

"Helm's beard!" cried Anomen, as he and Viconia healed their host of his wounds. "What happened?"

"Bandits in the woods!" Garren groaned blearily. "Firkraag's men. They took… they took my child. Held a knife to his throat until he told them all about you. They showed us this picture and asked if we'd seen the woman in it. We swore we did not know her, but the ogre who led them did not believe us. He said that a Selunite monk and a Sharran drow were her known companions, and if you were in the party who killed Ajantis, then she must be too!"

He held out a yellowing sheet of paper. It was crumpled and torn around the edges. Arowan recognized it as a very old bounty notice. One of many that Sarevok had printed in an attempt to capture Freya. A portrait of the younger werewolf, blissfully unaware of her impending doom, grinned cockily up at her. Both she and the man who had hunted her were dead, and yet their legacy continued to cause mischief.

"Her name was Freya Silvershield, formerly Freya of Candlekeep," said Arowan. "The Hero of Baldur's Gate."

"Then we must send for her at once!" Garren cried. "Firkraag has issued her a challenge. See, it is written alongside a crudely drawn map on the back of this notice. He keeps my only child a hostage until she comes."

The party looked at each other, stricken.

"That may be problematic, my friend," Rasaad said tentatively. "Freya Silvershield is dead."

At this, Garren put his head into his hands and sobbed. Any reasonable kidnapper would take that as an answer and release the child. Yet Firkraag did not strike any of them as being reasonable.

"What of your contacts in the Radiant Heart. Are we still to be killed?" Viconia asked urgently.

Garren stopped weeping and glared at her, disgusted.

"Is that your only concern? My child is taken, and you think only of yourself?"

Arowan rose shakily to her feet. Her pale, sweaty face and bleary eyes from lack of numbing potion did little to reassure the former lord. Even at her best, she was not the sort of hero capable of storming keeps and daring rescues. Right now, she looked as though she could barely even walk.

"Let us talk to this Firkraag," Arowan suggested, albeit without enthusiasm. "Freya pissed off a lot of people, but she is gone now. Whatever she did to defy this man, perhaps he will be satisfied with knowing that she met an exceptionally gruesome end."

* * *

* * *

There was something they had to do first, however. Those members of the party who had been inside the dungeon under Waukeen's Promenade insisted that before they sought out Firkraag, the dryads must be freed. It had already been far too long.

Garren was able to direct them, for he roamed the woods regularly and had discovered the place, though normally he went out of his way to avoid it. A great pool of turquoise water bubbled and frothed in the middle of the forest, like a gigantic bathtub. In it, creatures were swimming and playing, many resembling naked women. Fauns and half-goats gambolled around the edges playing pipe music. Through the pool a long, mossy line of stepping stones led to a great throne of ivy. A wispy woman with curly black hair and bark-like skin sat in it. Her eyes glowed a golden brown, and she smiled at them as they approached with pearly teeth.

"Welcome strangers, have you come to join the merriment for all eternity?" she laughed. A crown wrought from twigs and adorned with berries sat upon her brow.

The words were welcoming, but there was something slightly sinister in her tone. Garren seemed nervous and fidgety. Arowan glanced at Jaheira who was also clearly on her guard. The other three men were staring unblinkingly at the nymphs, even Rasaad. It was as though they were under some sort of enchantment. If this annoyed Viconia then she did not show it, for she too seemed to be having difficulty tearing her eyes away.

"Let me guess, we 'join you for eternity' as skulls at the bottom of your pool? Something along those lines?" Arowan asked dryly.

"No! What are you talking about?" the faerie queen snapped, clearly offended. "I didn't mean literally. We've not had handsome young mortal men pass this way for a while. My girls would have let them go afterward but if you're going to be like that…"

"Ignore Arowan!" Anomen cried hastily, but it was too late. The fey creatures were in a huff. Some of them were literally glowing red with annoyance. The cleric rounded on the ranger, who grinned apologetically. "You are a menace girl."

"Next tavern we come to, I'll lend you the Charisma Ring," Arowan suggested by way of compensation. "It'll give you the confidence to talk normally, without that revolting courting business, to any woman you like. How about that?"

This mollified the disappointed man a little, though he continued to glare at her resentfully. Rasaad and Yoshimo, meanwhile, seemed to have come to their senses and were backing up to join Garren. Though every once in a while, the monk shot a wistful look at the nymphs. He had a powerful, albeit repressed, libido.

"Er… these are for you, friend, do not be angry with us," Yoshimo said, retrieving the acorns. He placed them carefully onto one of the stepping stones before beating a hasty retreat.

The faerie queen's eyes widened and she fluttered forward, dancing on tiptoe from stone to stone, before scooping up the precious seeds. All giggling and prancing around the pool ceased as her subjects turned to watch her. She closed her hand around the acorns, breathing deeply, and a golden glow shone from her palms. When she opened them, the tiniest hint of roots, like little white worms, were poking from them.

Then before her the three captive dryads materialized. Having their trees relocated had not been good for them. Unlike their beautiful cousins in the pool, the three of them looked sick and weathered. Large cankerous sores pockmarked their skin. Yet when they realised where they were, two of them let out squeals of joy, and the third burst into floods of tears.

"We are saved! We are free! Oh, majesty, thank you!" cried one.

"Thank the human thief," replied the queen.

Arowan bristled suddenly, not liking the potential form that their thanks to Yoshimo might take. Fortunately, lovely though they were, the Kara-Turan had a strong preference for enthusiasm in his lovers. Women, especially ones as abused as these three had been, offering favours out of gratitude, did little for him. Especially with the stench of that dungeon still lingering about them. He was also rather worried about what they might say in front of the party, for they knew full well about his geas.

"No thanks necessary!" Yoshimo replied hastily. "I am only sorry that it took so long. Come… erm… let us find this Firkraag, for I am sure the child he holds prisoner must be petrified."

Suddenly one of the former captives wailed in terror.

"What's she doing here?" the dryad asked, pointing a trembling finger at Arowan.

She flinched. The dryads had only ever known her under the full influence of numbing potions, and she had not been very nice in that state. Lacking empathy as she had been, their story of woe had bored her and she'd made no effort to hide it. They had probably heard her cold conversations with their master, and perhaps even seen her dragging Khalid's body around the complex.

On the other hand, she had come all this way and got into considerable trouble to release them. With that in mind, their reaction was not entirely fair.

"We brought your acorns back," she reminded them placatingly. "Listen, I'm sorry I was so unsympathetic in the compound, I was addicted to numbing potions and-"

"She's as cold and unfeeling as he is!" the dryad whimpered to her queen, as her fellow captives nodded in agreement. "They are two of a kind, she and the master!"

That was an outrageous accusation, and Arowan had just begun to retort angrily when the entire party found themselves paralysed and blown backward by a magical gale. The faerie queen was changing, from beautiful to a menacing spirit of immense power.

"Because you saved my sisters, I will let you leave with your life, but know this: if you ever return, I will destroy you. For I see now what you are and what you may one day become. Stay away from this place, Huntress!" she said icily. "You will not find your quarry here. There is no reason for you to come to us again."

"You're welcome," Arowan replied sarcastically, through gritted teeth. "It was no trouble at all coming here by the way. We were only falsely accused of murder. Now we have to take on the lord of the entire region to clear our names. Just in case you were concerned that we'd gone to any inconvenience. So, you know… don't trouble yourselves to thank me or anything."

The dryads ignored her, and were already skipping away into the deep forest, blowing kisses at Yoshimo as they went. Meanwhile the rest of the faerie queen's court were gradually losing interest, and resuming their festivities. The queen relaxed and turned her attention to Viconia, who was still watching the nymphs with a slightly dreamy expression.

"You, of course, are always welcome back, Servant of all Faiths," the faerie queen said with a warm smile at their cleric. "May the spirits of the wood ever guide and protect you."

Arowan bristled as the faerie folk flocked to the drow, running their fingers delightedly through her fine silver hair and stroking her face affectionately. Viconia, who had not even wanted to bother helping the dryads in the first place, smirked at her.

"Fine. Whatever!" Arowan snapped. "Firkraag next. Perhaps when we rescue Garren's child they can spit on my boots as well!"

She had still not worked out whether young Windspear was male or female, but it seemed indelicate to ask.

* * *

* * *

As they approached the location marked on Firkraag's map, the entrance to his palace was not hard to find. A vast hole had been carved into the side of a mountain, supported by ornate stone structures. There were etchings as tall as two men, gilded and shimmering. Statues of mean, fanged wyrms scrawled up the walls like geckos with their forked stone tongues lolling out. Above the door, a pair of serpent's heads reared ninety feet high into a vast arch.

Wings, scales and pointed fangs from a hundred reptilian mouths gleamed down at them. Even the cobbles beneath their feet were interspersed with shed scales, as though someone had been gradually replacing the pebbles as the superior material was shed.

"Is anyone else noticing a certain theme to the decor here?" Yoshimo asked nervously. "Perhaps, my friends, it might be prudent to reconsider venturing into this lair."

"Dragons," agreed Arowan in a shaky voice. "Lord Windspear, I think it would be best if you go home. This negotiation is going to be dangerous enough, without intentionally bringing someone Firkraag already hates."

"We have fought dragons before and prevailed," Viconia said arrogantly. "Well, some of us have anyway."

"_Some of you_ had the Hero of Baldur's Gate with you when you fought that last dragon," Arowan said, eyeing Rasaad's legs which were knotted from thigh to ankle with burn scars. The creature in question had even blinded his tattoo of the eyes of Selune, with a single swipe of its claws. "And your monk still almost died."

Rasaad's expression darkened. Not only had he received a thorough and extremely painful arse-kicking from that dragon, but it had been Coran who had eventually taken it down and saved his life. Though his love affair with Arowan was well and truly over, Coran was still a bit of a sore subject. As a result, his response to her was unusually prickly.

"You pressed hard to negotiate with that dragon as I recall," Rasaad said. "Perhaps you will succeed where I failed." His tone made it very clear how likely he thought this was and the ranger's eyes narrowed. "And if not, I have gained much of my goddess's favour and power since then. I will not fall so easily a second time."

"Don't be ridiculous. Without Freya, you'll be toasted alive and gobbled down like bacon rashers," Jaheira snapped, voicing Arowan's thoughts perfectly. "Nobody is to attempt to fight the dragon."

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?" Viconia screamed.

Jaheira looked utterly bemused, and Arowan had to stifle a laugh. Her first and, she was determined, only evil use of the Charisma Ring had been to convince Viconia that toast was a dirty word. It seemed that the drow had swallowed her lies like… well… toast.

At that moment fighting became inevitable, however, because her yelling at the cavern entrance attracted guards. A volley of arrows whistled overhead. Those who had shields raised them, and the others ducked underneath, except for Rasaad who dodged the falling missiles. His boasts about having grown more powerful were not, it seemed, mere hubris.

Arowan was not slow to return fire. There had been so many falling arrows at once that the hallway must be packed with archers. She had no need to aim, since there would be an enemy wherever her fire arrows struck. Without wasting time gauging shots she let loose fire arrow after arrow into the darkness. Soon the tunnel was filled with light and smoke and their surviving enemies were driven out into melee.

"Hobgoblins!" Anomen informed them, unnecessarily. "With me, men!"

It was his kind of battle, and he charged full throttle into the fray, bludgeoning left and right with his mace and parrying axes with his shield.

"Well he is brave, I'll give him that," muttered Jaheira. "I suppose I had better rescue him now before the idiot boy gets himself killed."

Soon the druid, in bear form, and the monk were joining Anomen, with Viconia casting her supporting spells from the side. Unwilling to risk shooting directly into the melee, Arowan crept forward into the smoke, an arrow notched in her bow.

At first it was suffocating and the stinging heat from the fire stopped her venturing in further. Then all at once it cleared. Viconia had cast a Zone of Sweet Air and was following her into the cave. Arowan still did not wholly trust her not to stab her in the back and claim a hobgoblin did it. From the distance the drow was keeping from her, it was clear that Viconia had no faith in her either. The cleric summoned Shar's flaming sword, and Arowan stepped backward instinctively, but she was only using it as a torch.

By the light of the sword and fire arrow they could make out that they were in a huge cavern. A second, much narrower hallway led deeper into the compound. In the corner of the cave there was also a large hole, vast enough to drive an army down. Holding her light to it, Viconia saw huge claw marks had scratched the sides of it. The dragon, it had to be a dragon, had made its own entrance, tunnelling down into the mountain. Even assuming that it had made the hole large enough to fly out of, it must still be a colossal beast. Viconia's mouth formed a round 'O' as she stared at where its claws had torn deep grooves into the rocks.

"Reminds me of your handiwork," muttered Arowan, running her fingers over the three-line scar across her cheek from where Viconia had once slashed her face. "Still think you can take on Firkraag?"

"I think," Viconia said carefully, surveying the pit, "That this dragon may be somewhat larger than the last one. Perhaps… perhaps negotiation is not such a terrible notion this time around."

"We're not still packing Freya's dragonhide armour, are we?" asked Arowan, "Because that's pretty much guaranteed to piss him off."

"No, Keldorn still has it," Viconia replied, adding ruefully, "We could have sold it you know."

"Ok. Here goes." Arowan took a deep breath and called into the hole. "Excuse me, Lord Firkraag? Might we have a word?"

There was no response. She tried again a little louder.

"I beg your pardon Lord Firkraag! Could we trouble you for a moment of your time?"

Nothing.

"You sound like a door-to-door evangelist! Let me try," whispered Viconia. She took Freya's wanted poster from Arowan, wrapped it around a small pebble and tossed it into the hole. This time there was an indignant snort. "Lord Firkraag, we received your summons. The one you seek is long dead. If you would do us the honour of coming up to speak to us, we can offer you gold in exchange for the child you now hold."

A deep, horrible laughter rumbled from the hole, accompanied by a plume of smoke.

"You must think I was hatched yesterday, mortals," a chilling, but oddly refined voice rose from the depths. "Have you perchance set a little trap for me, Freya? Will I fly up into a volley of detonating arrows, or is it your intent to shred my wings before I can land? No, I think not. You will come to me. My minions will try to stop you, but I'm sure you will have no trouble dealing with them."

"He wants to make sure she's nice and tired by the time she reaches him," Viconia sighed resignedly. "Belhifet used the same strategy."

"Do you think anything we say is going to convince him she's dead?" asked Arowan.

"We could go dig up that fur coat and come back?" the drow suggested. "Tossing it down to him might convince him."

Arowan wrinkled her nose at her, then remembered that she was in no position to judge this plan. Seeing as how there was no coat to dig up, on account of her taking it to Irenicus for Bodhi to wear.

"Fur coat you say?" Firkraag's voice wafted up from the depths. "Now that _is _interesting. Come down here little mortals. Slay my servants if they get in your way, I can always breed more. Make your way down and let us talk."


	25. Toast!

Volleys of arrows rained down on them from above. None had hit their mark so far, but it was impossible to return fire, for Firkraag had built his entrance halls to a peculiar design. They had entered a wide stone corridor. On each side, looming thirty feet tall, were sheer walls of smooth marble. There was not so much as a crack for a handhold to climb up.

At the top were stationed his archers, orcs or hobgoblins if their grunting was anything to go by. They could not see over the barrier and were either shooting blindly over it, or painstakingly threading their arrows through very narrow slits.

An armoured warrior might well sprint the gauntlet and reach the opposite door without so much as a scratch, were it not for the traps. They were everywhere. Some released pots of toxic oil from the ceiling above. Others were connected to trapdoors to gods knew where. Most of them, however, simply set off bunches of little bells. The bells themselves were harmless but their tinkling chime told the archers exactly where to aim.

There were hundreds of them. Yoshimo predicted that it would take him hours to disable them all, and in that time even an archer shooting blind was likely to hit him by chance.

"This is one of those situations," Arowan muttered, "Where I really miss having a mage in the party."

Viconia glared at her. The ranger had taken three mages into her group at various times and all of them had been bad news for the drow. Dynaheir had set Dorn Il-Khan on her, Xzar had abducted and tried to murder her and as for Xan… she shuddered with disgust. She would show them that they needed no mage in the party.

The Sharran pulled a potion from her pack with a flourish. It was an explosive mixture, formulated to detonate on impact. She had been cherishing some half-formed plans involving putting it under a toilet seat before Arowan used the privy. Still, that would be a difficult jape to pull off, and the others would have known it was her. Better to make use of it now.

"Good plan," nodded Jaheira, fairly.

Viconia smirked and took aim.

"Eat toast, surfacers!"

She drew back her slender arm and hurled the bottle over the balcony. At least that was the intention.

Instead it hit the stone and smashed with a deafening bang. A brilliant flash of light dazzled the party, and fire rained down from above. The vibration set all the little bells ringing at once on their wires.

"Yoshimo, quick!" Arowan cried, "Slice through the strings that aren't dangerous. They can't use the bells to target you if they're all ringing at once!"

The thief was quick to act and took out about half of the tiny bells before they had all stopped ringing. It cut them a path through the hall, and they ran through it, some of them sheltering from the arrows beneath Anomen's shield. At the far end of the hall, however, they ran into a locked door.

"Pick the lock Yoshimo!" hissed Jaheira.

"I am eager to oblige you, oh mighty leader, but even for the great Yoshimo these things take time," the thief replied.

"We don't have any time!" said Anomen, whose shield was starting to resemble a porcupine with all the arrows embedded in it.

While they waited, Arowan risked stepping out from behind his shield and shooting over the barrier. A shrieking squeal told her that she had struck an orc, but at a price. Her enemies could see where the arrow had come from (more or less) and shot back a dozen in return. About half of them struck home.

"Arowan!" Yoshimo yelled, dropping his picks and skidding to her side.

"Open the blasted door!" Anomen cried urgently. "I cannot both heal her and shield the party at the same time!"

"You are not the only healer present," Jaheira pointed out angrily. "But we do need to get clear of the archers if we are to treat her properly."

The ranger had two stuck in her left thigh, one in her bow arm and three in the torso of her leather armour. It was lucky that the orc archers were having to shoot up and let gravity pull their arrows down again. It slowed them and lessened the impact. They had sunk a fair way into the muscle but not deep enough to puncture any major organs. Nevertheless, the smallest movements hurt unbearably.

"Urgh," she groaned, as Rasaad grabbed her by the armpits and dragged her to the relative safety of the group. Yoshimo finished picking the lock. "Oh no, you've got to be kidding…"

The door swung open to reveal a second gallery, identical to the first, with even more archers and more traps. Jaheira at once made vines spring from the floor. They reached up and wrenched the wires, setting off the traps and tiny bells. Unfortunately, a sprint across this room was impossible until the vines spell had subsided. The druid began summoning creatures, but it was not easy to bring them into being exactly over the walls. Anomen was preoccupied with fending off those arrows which were still coming from the first gallery.

"We have to retreat back to the cavern and come up with a new plan," Jaheira instructed. "Everybody run for the exit."

"Not going to happen," Arowan moaned from the floor. She might have managed a very slow, difficult crawl before passing out from pain and blood loss. Running was out of the question.

"Hold still rivvil!" snapped a voice. A sheet of silver hair dangled irritatingly over the ranger's face.

"That's it. I'm dead," she muttered. "If you're going to murder me, Viconia, remember how many times I saved your hide and make it quick."

"Grow up," hissed Viconia, yanking out the arrows one by one. She made no effort to be gentle, and the ranger yelped as each one was tugged free. Blood poured from the open wounds as the drow moved her hands over her, whispering her healing spells.

Bit by bit, the pain ebbed away and Arowan got back to her feet.

"Thanks," she said, reluctantly.

"Not a problem," Viconia smiled pleasantly. "The hole you already have is rather too wide and loose. The last thing you need is any more of them."

Anomen snorted with laughter. The ranger caught his eye, and then shoved him bodily into the middle of the second room. It caught him completely off guard and he stumbled in, shield raised to protect himself.

"What are you doing you mad c…?" he screamed, as Jaheira's vines wrapped about his thighs and arrows struck his armour and shield with loud plinks.

"Let's try this again shall we?" grinned Arowan, ducking under his shield and notching her bow.

She watched carefully to see where the arrows were coming from, darted out, released one of her favourite fiery missiles in return, then ducked back under his shield. They returned fire but this time she was protected.

Though hopeless in melee, she had always been an excellent shot, and her bow was a beast of a weapon. She had stolen it from Captain Corwin before fleeing Baldur's Gate, and it gave her some satisfaction to imagine the soldier's face when she realised that it was gone.

Gradually the numbers whittled down, and as the effect of the vines wore off, they could hear the last few orc guards fleeing down the gallery. Arowan lowered her bow, panting and laughing.

"Arowan!" Yoshimo cried, "Are you alright, my crazy lady?"

"Fine, fine," she grinned in relief.

She and Yoshimo hugged tightly, though as the thief looked over her shoulder, he noticed Jaheira's eyes narrowing at him. The druid had specifically warned him off her daughter. Only the reason she had given was numbing potions, and Arowan was no longer taking them. So she couldn't really object.

"This door is locked too," Anomen noted, jiggling it. "I daresay there are more of those cowards quivering behind their balconies there as well."

"Why don't we climb onto the balcony instead?" Rasaad asked innocently.

"Since slaying a dragon and a demon lord, have your monk-powers expanded to such an extent that you can vault a thirty foot sheer wall?" demanded Jaheira, impatiently. "Has your goddess granted you the gift of flight?"

"No, but there are hidden doors in the corners of each room." The monk pointed his large finger. "Right there."

Immediately, the gallery grew louder than when Viconia had thrown her potion, as the whole party exploded at the monk.

"You stupid boy!" Jaheira summed it up succinctly. She swept her quarterstaff at Rasaad's calves, but the monk was too fast for her and jumped over it.

"Son of a bitch!" Arowan thundered. "There were doors to the gallery the whole time? You couldn't have pointed that out _before _the orcs shot me?"

"My family crest is ruined!" Anomen fumed, grabbing a fistful of arrows and wrenching them out of his shield. Thanks to protective enchantments, the shield itself had survived, but all the paint had been scratched off.

Yet it was Viconia who had the harshest words for the moon monk.

"Pestilent male!" she screamed. "Toast-brained imbecile! We could all have been killed!"

"Forgive me, the doors were so obvious that I assumed you had a reason for not using them," Rasaad replied, mortified. "It was certainly not my intent for any of our party to get hurt."

"Silence you accursed slice of toast!"

She strode onto the balcony, sword flaming. From up here, taking down the last remaining orcs was simple. Soon the ones that the party missed with their weapons were pitching themselves over the balcony just to get away.

Rasaad's genuinely hurt expression was too perfect. It took all of Arowan's self-restraint to keep a straight face. Some of the others, however, were starting to catch on to Viconia's unconventional cursing.

"Viconia, my comely lass, did you by some happenstance come to hit your head in the battle we just fought?" Anomen enquired, ever the gentleman. "Are you feeling quite alright?"

"Anomen has a point, if you don't mind me saying so. You are acting rather… odd," Yoshimo observed.

"Be quiet all of you!" snapped Viconia. "I sense undead up ahead and I must focus on turning them. Your masculine voices are like the crunch of toast between my teeth. Let us press on and find Firkraag, before the moonchild comes up with another way to get us all killed."

Arowan followed along, whistling to herself innocuously. She had to turn her face to the wall, however, when the three confused men started to whisper amongst themselves.

"Anomen? And Yoshimo too, for common is your first language is it not?" Rasaad asked in a low voice. "Tell me, what does it mean to say our 'voices are like toast?' This is a Sword Coast saying that I have not encountered previously."

"It means naught to me," Anomen replied indifferently. "I daresay it's a drow thing."

"Does she mean to compliment or insult us, do you suppose?" Yoshimo mused.

"Viconia being Viconia, I must assume she intended to insult me," Rasaad sighed. "Though personally I confess myself quite fond of the crunch of toast."

Arowan hugged herself with glee, and almost caught herself skipping into the next section of Firkraag's dungeon. Her good mood was short-lived however. There were vampires, mummies and more orcs and goblins than Jaheira could shake her stick at.

* * *

* * *

They only came across two people in Firkraag's dungeon who did not attack them on sight. The first was a friendly woman leading an archaeological expedition into an ancient part of the base. Apparently Firkraag moved into someone else's abandoned castle rather than building his own. That, or he had just slaughtered the original occupants. The group seemed nice enough and they went their separate ways.

The other was a peculiar troll. The first thing that struck the party as odd was that he was wearing clothes. Trolls, with their tough bodies and rapid regeneration, rarely bothered to cover themselves. This one, however, was wearing a white apron, a chef's hat, and a pair of sooty oven mittens. His other unusual trait was his speech, for he spoke clearer common than they had ever heard from one of his kind.

"Hello there, food-thing!" it greeted them pleasantly. "You are just in time. Please undress and jump onto the grill over there."

"Excuse me?" Jaheira replied imperiously.

"Up on the grill, one at a time. Careful it's hot!" the troll replied politely, reaching up his long arms to grab dried herbs and pots of spices. "Pity there's no time to marinade you. I thinking: rosemary and thyme potatoes, roasted in your drippings, and you seared whole with just a hint of coriander."

"That's it, I've heard enough!" Anomen thundered. "Die beast!"

"No! We can't just burst into his home and murder him!" Arowan objected, standing between Anomen and the troll. This turned out to be a mistake, for the troll cook assumed she was volunteering to go first. He lifted her with arms as strong as an elephant's trunk, popped her onto the table and began sprinkling her liberally with salt and pepper.

The men immediately drew their swords, while Viconia cast protective enchantments about herself. Jaheira raised her staff to strike the troll, but Arowan was having none of it.

"Stop it all of you, what has this poor creature ever done to you?" she protested.

"Crazy, crazy lady!" Yoshimo cried in disbelief. "It wants to eat you! Look, it is picking up a tenderizing mallet as we speak!"

This was true. Apparently she was sufficiently seasoned for the creature's taste, because he had put down the salt and picked up a large, spiked hammer. While she had been defending it from her companions, the troll was very quietly raising it above her skull.

"Woah… hold on… wait a minute!" she yelped, backing off the table and landing in a pile on the floor. "There's been a misunderstanding. We were invited here by Lord Firkraag. We're supposed to meet him downstairs."

The troll's dark green skin turned a pale cyan, and he lowered his mallet. He raised a trembling hand to his mouth biting, in his nervousness, not only his nails but the actual fingertips too. Being a troll they would soon grow back, but it was still quite revolting to watch.

"So sorry! So sorry!" it whimpered. "I make terrible mistake! So, so sorry."

"Not to worry!" smiled Arowan, "We'll just be on our way."

However, as she turned to leave, she found herself being lifted by her collar. The troll was holding her up like a mother cat carrying a kitten by the scruff of its neck. It was most uncomfortable and she began to choke and struggle. The troll was brushing her down roughly with its long fingers.

"Terrible, terrible mistake," it was muttering. "Lord Firkraag hate coriander! You should have said you were for His Hugeness. I would have used sage."

The others were ready to ignore the Ilmatari's pleas for mercy and deal with the creature. Only at that moment a door burst open and it turned out that he was not alone. The kitchen opened up to a long dining hall in which were seated over a hundred trolls, wolfweres, ogres, orcs and hobgoblins of various sizes. The smell of their combined body odour hit them like a tidal wave of corned beef. The creatures would have presented no challenge at all for Freya, but they were too numerous for this small party.

"'Ere, we're 'ungry," complained a large, squat hobgoblin who had opened the door. "What's the hold up?"

"I'm just dealing with the entrées, you wait turn!" snapped the troll.

The hobgoblin looked them up and down appraisingly. Judging by the fancy dragon-symbols engraved onto his armour he was some sort of captain. Behind him a hundred pairs of hungry eyes watched the party. Some of the creatures were licking their lips.

"I've told yeh before about talking to the food," the captain grunted. "We can eat 'em raw. 'Urry up and carve 'em. I'm back on duty in ten minutes."

"Apologies my esurient friend," Yoshimo cut in hastily. "We were specially requested by Lord Firkraag himself."

The Captain's face crumpled with disappointment.

"Shoulda known. Two foreign 'umans, a pointy-ears and whatever the heck you're supposed to be," he muttered, pointing at Viconia. "We always get the same old boring muck, but whenever any new flavours happen by, he keeps 'em for 'imself. Greedy great lizard."

He clumped back into the dining hall, and slumped grouchily at the head of the table. After that there was nothing they could do but stand still and let the troll chef season them. Rasaad had no beard nor hair for the spices to stick too, but their cook came up with an ingenious solution. He placed the monk directly in front of the grill while he peppered the other five and gave them bouquets of dried herbs to hold. By the time he got around to Rasaad, the monk had worked up a light sweat which, in the words of the troll, 'absorbed the flavours beautifully.'

Then, like some strange bridal procession, they filed out one by one, clutching their bunches of herbs before them.

"Through the doors ahead and to the left!" the troll called after them helpfully. "Then keep heading downstairs. I think I got most of the coriander off you, but if his lordship scents some just come back up and we'll bathe you in a nice onion broth."

"Thanks, you've been very helpful!" Arowan called back.

"And you have been delights to prepare," the troll replied generously. "I wish all my ingredients was being cooperative like you!"

* * *

* * *

They continued in procession deep into the underground castle. Nobody else bothered them, though a pack of wolfweres had to be forcibly restrained by their alpha from helping themselves to Firkraag's supper.

"Firkraag has gathered an interesting variety of servants has he not? Trolls, goblins, wolves, undead. We will still need to fight them at some point," Anomen muttered. "This little ruse might work on the way down, but it won't fool them on the way back up. We may as well battle them now!"

"We _are _tricking them, aren't we?" Yoshimo ventured. "Supposing we do convince this Firkraag that Freya is dead… what reason does he have _not _to eat us?"

"We offered to buy Garren Windspear's child from him," Viconia said. "Gold and gems. Dragons love that sort of thing."

"Not all dragons," Jaheira replied. "Dragons are natural hoarders, but some collect treasure of a less obvious kind. To live as a human noblemen and accumulate lands and titles is not normal behaviour. This Firkraag is unusual amongst his race, we should assume nothing."

Yoshimo was eyeing their packs with mounting unease as they passed under the solid metal fists of two giant golems. The constructs were letting them pass unchallenged, two guarding each end of a swinging bridge to the lower keep. Any one of them alone would be a tough fight for the party. These four could crush them all just by toppling over. At the far end of the bridge was a staircase spiralling down into the darkness.

"This may not be the best time to bring this up," said Yoshimo, "With a hundred orcs and ogres above us, a wolfwere pack behind us and colossal golems to our left and right but…"

"Out with it man!" commanded Jaheira. She was worried too, but her nerves tended to manifest in defiant anger.

"…all of our remaining gold is right here in our packs," Yoshimo said. "What's to prevent Firkraag from taking it, keeping Garren's child captive _and_ eating us all into the bargain?"

Cruel, deep chuckling came from the bottom of the long, twisting stairs.

"Nothing whatsoever, fools."

It was not Firkraag, but the slow, rumble of an ogre. They were close to the dragon now, and had no choice but to pass the last of his bodyguards. Slowly, weapons drawn, they descended the stairs, emerging in a strange rectangular room.

Half of it was a bedroom and study, bedecked in fine silk sheets and vivid velvets. Everything from the bed to the chairs were ogre sized, and this ogre lived a life of great luxury. Even his plates and goblets were made from wrought gold.

What made the room strange was that the other half of it was a long line of barren cells, like the jail in Baldur's Gate. They were clean but barred, so that the captives could always see Tazok and he could always see them. Some of them had bloodstains up the walls, but all were currently empty except one. Garren's child looked up hopefully at the sight of them, but seemed too afraid of the ogre to say anything.

The ogre himself was lounging in a plush armchair, smoking a pipe and smirking at them. He made no move to rise when they came in, though his eyes roved over them. Arowan found this unsettlingly creepy. It was hard to pinpoint exactly why but her gut was telling her that this was not the usual look of a warrior sizing up his opponents.

"Are you Tazok?" Viconia asked. "We overheard Ajantis mention you."

"That pompous blob is dead is he?" Tazok grunted. Arowan nodded. She assumed that he had wanted this, but was not about to own up to killing the knight just in case. "Pity. I wanted to club him to death myself, but Lord Firkraag insisted on using illusions to trick strangers into doing it. That's the boss for you. Never settle for a quick, simple plan when a long over-complicated scheme will do."

He patted a plump emerald pillow by his side, gesturing for them to sit with him. Neither woman moved. Tazok bared his brown teeth at them threateningly. It was testimony to how unpleasant he was, that they were now rather eager to get past him quickly, even though the steps behind him led to Firkraag's lair.

"So you did come… I thought you would be too cowardly to answer the boss's challenge," he drawled lazily. "Tell me; which one of you is Gorion's ward?"

Nobody answered. Tazok rose to his considerable height, his fist tightening around his club.

"She is!" Viconia cried treacherously, pointing at Arowan. The ranger rolled her eyes.

"_That one?" _Tazok cried, pointing a meaty finger at her, clearly underwhelmed. "That feeble little mouse?"

"You were hoping for Freya?" asked Arowan, acidly. The ogre let out a low rumble of laughter.

"No. I would not have relished another round with the so-called Hero," he replied. "Unlike Sarevok, I had the brains to know when I was outmatched. I made sure I had a teleport spell to get out of that battle, and I have another one now, just in case she showed up. Don't think I'll bother wasting it on you though. How is the Bitch of Baldur's Gate these days?"

"Dead," Arowan said flatly.

"Good! Every time one of your cursed lineage falls, it's good news for the rest of us," Tazok spat. "Sarevok was no better. He took too much for his plate, left us in a bad position. I warned him that Gorion had multiple wards. You'll find my new master much smarter!

"Who were you wanting then? Draxle? She's dead too."

"Ajantis's little whore and I did have a score to settle," admitted Tazok. "The boss might even have let me keep her. It would have been as good a revenge on Gorion as any other."

This time it was Arowan's turn to laugh.

"He wants to kill one of Gorion's wards to get revenge on the old mage?" she replied. "And he got _me? _Oh dear… he really is going to be disappointed."

Apparently Firkraag was close enough to hear them, for there was an impatient grunt, and thin tendrils of smoke wormed their way up the stairs and into the room. Tazok stopped smirking and jumped to attention.

"Down the stairs you go then, dead things," Tazok leered. "In the unlikely event that you can talk your way out of this, I'll be waiting."

* * *

* * *

The staircase merged into the side of a much wider, longer set of stairs. At the top was a very wide, flat stone hall that seemed to serve as the dragon's runway. The dragon themed décor was stamped all over this place too, only the statues were poorer quality and less detailed. As if the artists who carved them had been in a hurry to get out. Jaheira recognized some of them as the goddess Tiamat, an evil five-headed dragon mother. It did not bode well.

Firkraag himself was waiting for them at the end of a grand hall at the foot of the stairs. At first they thought the lair tiny, then they realised that the room itself was enormous. It was just that he was so large that he made it look small.

What was surprisingly underwhelming was his horde. He did have one but it was less gold than Bodhi's bounty by the looks of things. Mostly it comprised of small and exquisitely crafted items displayed around the edges of the lair on plinths. There was a pile of coins in one corner for expenses but nothing like the glittering mound of treasure belonging to the last dragon they had encountered. That one had been less than half Firkraag's size too.

"Wow," breathed Arowan, who unlike the others had never seen a live dragon, not even a whelp. He seemed pleased by her reaction and drew himself to his full height. When he spread out his charcoal black wings to reveal their enormous span, she satisfied him with an impressed gasp.

Fighting him was completely out of the question. He was a red drake with scales like rubies and a hide of iron. Each of the horns on his head were the length of two humans and his claws were spears in their own right. He swished his barbed tail and it cracked like a whip, making the whole party jump. All of that was without magic or fire-breath, though doubtless he possessed these weapons too.

"Welcome. I see Freya is not with you," he observed lazily. "I must apologise for doubting your word, but it never occurred to me that you would be so foolish as to face me without her. Even with her, the outcome would have been the same, but it would have made this so much more interesting."

"Tazok said you wanted her to get revenge on Gorion," Arowan said, as assertively as she dared. "Slaying me won't achieve that. He had…"

"…no interest in you," Firkraag finished for her in a bored voice. "Yes, yes. I know _Arowan. _You were raised by Gorion. I know this from my spies and followers. They are subtle when I wish it, though none of them were ever quite right after they returned from Candlekeep. Their tales of Gorion's Ward were conflicting senseless babble. You were both male and female, the most beautiful creature to walk the Sword Coast and a filthy half-orc. A noble necromancer of Helm. I was intrigued, so I paid a visit in person, disguised of course."

"Forgive me for asking," Arowan cut in, for despite the risk that they were about to be eaten, curiosity got the better of her, "But how could you go unnoticed anywhere?"

"Dragons can adopt a humanoid form at will," Jaheira hissed.

"And I did not go unnoticed," Firkraag added. "Even as a human I cut a striking figure. I was noticed, and perhaps some of the monks even recognized my true nature. If they did, they were wise enough not to challenge me. In the highly unlikely event that they could have driven me off, a fire breathing dragon in a library… you get the picture."

Arowan's neck was starting to ache from craning upward. Beside her Yoshimo stood poised to run, but run where? Adamite golems and a small army stood between them and escape. For the moment, it seemed, Firkraag was more interested in talking than in eating them.

"Gorion's petty memory spells were not powerful enough to fool a being of my stature, though they worked well enough on everyone else." He yawned, revealing row after row of gleaming fangs. "I tire of this. I cast my net hoping to snare one of his favourites. Freya would have been the golden prize of course, but I would have settled for Draxle or even Eric. You, on the other hand, were nothing to him and he was nothing to you. Which means you are nothing to me… but a snack."

Yoshimo leapt in front of her, katana drawn. Arowan raised her bow hopelessly. Rasaad and Anomen both sprang forward and began pounding ineffectively at the dragon's legs. Jaheira summoned wolves in a vain attempt to distract Firkraag and Viconia, as always, began with casting protective spells over herself. It was all for naught.

Firkraag's gaping jaws plunged toward her with impossible speed. The heat emanating from his gullet was unbearable. Yoshimo screwed his eyes shut, though to his credit he did not move. Arowan could neither fight, run, nor scream. The breath caught in her throat and she found herself paralysed in the face of her impending death.

Inches from her face, the dread jaws snapped shut. At first, Arowan thought Firkraag might have been bluffing about eating her, but then he sniffed, his great red nostrils flaring. His eyes narrowed at her as though she had personally offended him.

"Is that coriander?" Firkraag demanded, his voice dripping with disgust. "I loathe coriander!"

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Arowan replied. It was not the time for sarcasm, but under stress it just slipped out.

"Not as sorry as my cook is going to be," the dragon growled.

"Don't blame him, it's not his fault!" she said, the Ilmatari in her emerging. There was no sense in the poor troll cook dying too. "He'd already seasoned me before he knew you'd asked for us. He tried to get it off when he realised."

"Ah, so the rest of you are not covered in that revolting herb then?" Firkraag perked up a bit.

"Arowan, I am going to kill you!" Jaheira thundered.

"Between this and the nymphs earlier, if we survive I swear I will cut out your tongue!" Anomen agreed angrily. "The world would be a better place if you just stopped talking!"

Firkraag cast a reptilian eye over the party appraisingly, and it landed on the drow. The muscle-bound monk looked tough and chewy, metal armour stuck in the teeth and the druid was inconsiderately transforming into a bear before his eyes. He lunged for Viconia, his hot breath blowing back her silver hair. In response, she summoned her flaming sword defiantly.

"Bleed for Shar, you foul piece of toast!"

It was such a weird curse that she actually succeeded in getting his attention. He snaked his head close to Viconia so that he was on a level with her. Rasaad landed a burning punch that the dragon actually felt. He threw the monk against the wall with an irritated flick of his tail.

"Did you just call me… _toast?_"

Arowan screwed her eyes shut while Viconia (in the mistaken belief that she had learned a swearword powerful enough to shock dragons) went right on using it.

"You are right, toast is too good a word for you, wyrm! You are the mere crumbs of toast!" she screamed. Dragons do not have human facial expressions in their greater form, but it was obvious that Firkraag was very confused.

"Crumbs of… toast?" he echoed. "Are you trying to convince me that you are mad, mortal? In the hope that I will not eat you in case you are contagious?"

"Do you believe that the gods will let you eat me, toast-breath?" Viconia cried, slashing her sword. "Do you believe that a common slice of toast can defeat the Servant of all Faiths?"

To the drow's satisfaction, Arowan's disbelief and everybody else's utter bafflement, Firkraag withdrew. He sat back on his haunches, brushed Anomen away with one claw and surveyed the drow for a while. Viconia leant in to Arowan and said in a whisper;

"This word of yours, toast. I did not know you surfacers had curses of such potency in your insipid language."

"Oh gods, we're all going to die," the ranger moaned softly.

An immense talon reached out and plucked Viconia up by her shoulders. The drow cursed and struggled, but instead of popping her into his mouth, the dragon held her to his eye. He twiddled her left and right, inspecting her closely.

"The Servant of all Faiths?" he murmured thoughtfully. "Seems unlikely but wouldn't hurt to check I suppose… TAZOK!"

There was a pounding of feet and the ogre hastened down the stairs and into the room. Firkraag dropped Viconia unceremoniously on the floor and scooped up the rest of the party, wrapping them safely out of the way in his talons and tail. They struggled, but it was like wrestling cast iron.

"Tazok, kill the drow."

"You're giving her to me to play with?" the ogre grinned with yellow-brown teeth. "Thank you master, her suffering shall be legendary."

"No torture, just kill!" Firkraag ordered impatiently. "Get on with it!"

It was clear that Tazok was wondering why the boss didn't just do it himself, but he dared not question his master. He swung his club at Viconia, who tried to parry, but the ogre was too strong.

"NO!" cried Rasaad. He wrenched at the dragon, managing to get one arm free. "VICONIA!"

Tazok swung his club a second time, and there was a loud crack like a tree falling as he broke both her legs. Unable to support herself, she collapsed to the floor. The drow looked up at him petrified, and in agony, tears streaming down her face. The ogre raised his club above his head in both hands and swung it at her face. She curled into a ball and by some miracle he missed.

Firkraag watched on, intrigued, as the ogre's club swung past Viconia, ruffling her hair, and smacked into a stone plinth behind her. The force of the blow dislodged one of his statues, a crudely hacked representation of the five-headed dragon goddess Tiamat. It toppled neatly onto Tazok, knocking him prone and pinning his head to the stone floor like a claw.

The ogre's head was trapped beneath the five-headed dragon. He tried to lift it, but his flailing was to no avail. Viconia uncurled like a hedgehog and peered around cautiously. In Firkraag's claws, the monk relaxed a little, feeling his heartrate slow. For a moment it had seemed as though she would die, and it felt as though the bottom of his world had fallen away.

"Master, help me!" Tazok yelled. One of Tiamat's stone heads was digging into the back of his neck. Viconia began healing her broken legs. The ogre's enthusiasm at the thought of torturing her had not escaped her notice. Were the rest of the party not watching she might have taken the opportunity to show this amateur how a professional inflicts pain, but as it was, she'd have to settle for killing him.

Before she struck, she looked to Firkraag, just to make sure that her actions would not provoke fiery retribution. The gods had shown themselves willing to go to great lengths to preserve her life, but not to shield her from pain and injury. Firkraag released the rest of her party from his claws and waved a talon at her indulgently.

"Who am I to defy the will of the gods?" he shrugged.

Viconia never got the chance to strike, however, because while she was busy healing her legs, Rasaad reached Tazok first. He flung the stone statue aside and bellowed a challenge. All of the others shook their heads and sighed at his insistence on an 'honourable' fight instead of just stabbing the prone ogre. Except for Anomen who leapt in to help.

"No, he is mine!" Rasaad insisted. "You want someone to play with, monster? Play with me!"

"How romantic," muttered Arowan, rolling her eyes.

It was still hardly a fair fight, for the ogre was severely concussed. He lunged clumsily at Rasaad who used the force of Tazok's own weight to bring him down to the floor. What happened next took them all by surprise. The monk pinned Tazok and began pounding his face. There was no moon-like calm or fancy footwork involved. His bunched hand slammed down over and over, like a hammer striking a nail. Rasaad struck until his knees and arms were drenched in blood, and large splatters of red covered his own face. It went on for a long time.

"He's been dead for a while," Firkraag pointed out after a time, but Rasaad showed no sign of stopping.

All his bottled rage was released at once. The death of his brother, the deaths of his friends. He was no longer part of the Sun Soul Order, Arowan had betrayed him. He had nothing left in the world except revenge and… except perhaps for Viconia. And this _thing _had tried to take her from him too.

The cracking sound of splintering skull and the emergence of little pieces of brain were making even Viconia wince by this point.

"Do something!" Jaheira mouthed at her.

The drow approached him hesitantly, for he was so lost in his fury that she feared he might strike out at her too. She placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Rasaad… Rasaad stop," she said gently. "Please?"

Her words had no effect. There was nothing recognizable left of Tazok's face now. It seemed as though the Selunite would not slow nor stop until he collapsed from exhaustion. Viconia had not been brought up to have patience with emotional incontinence. She slapped the monk about the back of his tattooed head, hard.

"Enough male! Do you think to impress me with this ridiculous display?" she demanded. Though secretly she was both impressed and pleased. "Get up! I have seen toast behave with more dignity!"

Rasaad seemed to come to his senses. He stopped, panting and staring in horror at his own handiwork. As he rose shakily to his feet, Viconia wrapped her arms about him from behind. Jaheira glanced at her daughter with concern, but Arowan had seen this coming from miles away and was more grossed out than upset by it.

Slow and shell-shocked, the monk looked from drow to ranger and back again. His knuckles were dripping with blood, and globs of connective tissue. Viconia's brow furrowed. Then he asked, in a strained voice;

"Arowan? I have to know. What exactly did you tell her 'toast' means?"


	26. Viconia's Purpose

After the violent action of the previous minutes, an eerie calm settled over the stone dragon hall. Bits of Tazok's jellified face oozed slowly across the floor and they all, Firkraag included, edged away from it toward the stairs. Rasaad seemed dazed by his own actions, but nobody was paying him much attention anymore. All eyes were on Viconia.

"So…" Firkraag began, his tone far more pleasant. "You are the Servant of all Faiths after all. Apologies for letting Tazok break your legs and all that, but I had to check."

"That's right, I am!" Viconia howled shrilly. "You cannot kill me!"

"Kill you?" Firkraag scoffed, so loudly that his voice echoed around the hall. Dozens of scaly stone faces leered down at them, as though his statues were mocking them. "Obviously I do not wish to kill the Servant of all Faiths. I am not suicidal!"

Viconia was never one for false modesty (nor indeed real modesty, even when the situation called for it). She stood proudly, red eyes flashing and long white hair streaming behind her in a most dramatic fashion. The grovelling and cowering of a moment before were already forgotten.

"It would be suicide to oppose me! The gods themselves will smite you if you try!"

"Possibly, judging by what just happened to Tazok. Though what I actually meant was that I would not want to destroy you even if I could," the dragon chuckled, releasing little wisps of smoke. "Great heavens. You are the Servant of all Faiths, but you don't have the faintest idea what that means, do you?"

"I do!" Viconia sniffed defiantly. "I am destined to prevent the Great Evil from sacking one of my people's magnificent cities in the Underdark. The demon lord Ur-Gothoz revealed his plan to Arowan!"

Firkraag seemed to find this exceedingly funny. As he crossed the room chuckling to himself, his snake-like tail was practically wagging. He lifted the fallen statue of his evil goddess and returned her reverently to her plinth. Her five wicked little heads seemed to stare down at where Tazok lay dead.

"One city?" he mocked them, once his laughter subsided. "What stupid creatures you red-bloods are. Do you really imagine that every god in the pantheon would intervene for one mortal city? No. The Great Evil, as you so ironically call it, will seek to cull a full third of Faerun's population. Myself included. Hence why I am letting you go."

Letting them go! Yoshimo did not need to wait to hear that offer twice, and was already halfway to the stairs when Jaheira stuck her staff out and tripped him up. When he realised that the rest of the party were not going anywhere, he sat down resignedly on the bottom stair. It was cold and uncomfortable, and he eyed the exit longingly.

"Why is it ironic to call a genocidal demon the Great Evil?" Jaheira demanded. "Sounds like the perfect title to me!"

"So the 'Great Evil' is demonic in nature is it?" the dragon echoed, drumming his claws on the floor. "Ur-Gothoz,you say? That part I did not know. Makes sense I suppose. Well, no harm in trading some of your information for some of mine." He studied the party closely, his eyes lingering particularly on their would-be paladin and the Sun Soul monk. He seemed to be evaluating what to tell them. "I am not sure these two will continue to aid the Chosen One if I explain the ironic part of your statement, but then, you are a Harper are you not?"

Jaheira looked taken aback. Clearly the dragon had some previous dealings with Harpers, if he was so bent on revenging himself on Gorion. She had a distant recollection of the mage's victory against a red dragon. The fact that he recognized her an knew that she was a Harper, however, was disconcerting.

"Some dragons hoard diamonds and pearls, I hoard information," Firkraag said in a low voice. "It is a far more valuable treasure and serves me better in a world of warriors who would make their armour from my hide. Yes, I know you are a Harper. As such, you can explain to these fools the importance of the balance."

There was a sound of rushing air, followed by a loud pop. The dragon was shrinking down very rapidly, his scales and fangs receding. In his place stood a handsome young man with striking red hair and amber eyes. He wore the clothes of a noble, covered by a red velvet doublet. An ornamental rapier swung by his side and his hands were adorned with enchanted rings.

In his lower form he was very handsome, and Arowan wondered if he was considered a looker by dragon standards. What would girl dragons go for? Shiny scales? Manicured talons? Great big horns? Strange, the random thoughts that float through people's heads under stress. Human-Firkraag was eyeing Tazok's sludge-like head and wrinkling his nose.

"Let us talk somewhere else, shall we?" he suggested.

* * *

* * *

He led them upstairs to Tazok's room, where Garren's child was cowering in one of the cells. The battle cries and screaming must have been audible from here. With a disgusted grunt, Firkraag slipped a ring of keys from under the ogre's pillow and opened the cage. Then he hollered for his servants and handed the kid to the wolfweres with instructions to take him home unmolested.

That taken care of, he settled into Tazok's chair as though it were a throne, and bid them sit at his feet. It was galling to crowd around him as though he were some benevolent guru addressing his students. On the other hand, they were all rather tired and it was a relief to park their bottoms onto velvet cushions, so they went with it.

"It is ironic to refer to the coming calamity as the 'Great Evil,' because it is those of us of evil alignment who are to be culled," Firkraag told them. "All of us."

At once Anomen leapt to his feet, causing the dragon to mutter 'predictable' and drum his fingers impatiently on the arm of the chair. He surveyed the angry cleric with contemptuous amber eyes, as he pulled off his helmet and threw it at the wall in temper.

"I should have known better than to defend a drow!" he bellowed. "I have been duped into serving darkness! This realm is to be blessed with a purge of all evil and I was fighting _against _it? No wonder the Order rejected me."

Viconia recoiled and turned to Rasaad with huge pleading eyes. Yet she found the monk looking at her in a disturbingly familiar way. It was the same expression with which he had stared at Tazok, moments before pummelling his head into the floor.

"Rasaad…" she begged.

"Get away from me snake! Servant of Shar!" Rasaad cried. "Anomen is right. You defend evil, and we defend you. What does that make us?"

"Idiots?" Firkraag suggested.

He half-smiled and shook his head at Jaheira as if to say_; you see_? They let the two men storm and vent for a minute or so, while Viconia looked scared and Jaheira thoughtful. Yoshimo kept glancing at the door. His main priority was still to make it out of his lair alive and he did not share the rest of the party's confidence that they would. After all, it was really only Viconia who needed to survive.

"Yes, just the childish reaction I expected," Firkraag sneered, leaning forward in his chair and clapping sardonically. "I had you two marked down as fools. You think the simultaneous destruction of all those of evil alignment will hail the dawn of some sort of golden age? Would you like to explain the problem with that plan, Harper, or shall I?"

The druid turned to Rasaad and Anomen with a troubled expression. Despite both her druid class and her allegiance to the Harpers dictating that she ought to be neutral, she had always leaned toward the good. At first the idea of no more evil sounded very appealing. Yet the consequences were too horrific to bear thinking about.

"The balance must be preserved!" Jaheira said. "Your own goddess, Selune, and your god Helm chose Viconia too. Stop for a moment and think about what would really happen if every sentient creature of evil alignment were to perish all at once!"

"It would be the end of Alorgoth," Rasaad muttered darkly.

"Firkraag's right, you really are a moron," snapped Arowan. She was the only one in the party who was not entirely surprised by their host's revelation. In the horrific visions of mass slaughter that Ur-Gothoz had shown her, every execution had started with Anomen casting Know Alignment. Those who did not glow red had been permitted to run. Those of the wrong alignment were butchered in cold blood, even one of the elves who had been fighting on Dorn's side.

Why the evil Blackguard himself was not among the targets was simple enough to explain. The demons were orchestrating this, and Dorn served the demons.

"You think Rasaad is a moron do you?" Anomen asked her haughtily. "Very well. What profound words of wisdom will our illiterate ranger bless us with this day?"

"Just because someone is evil doesn't mean that nobody loves them," Arowan said through clenched teeth. "Even if they thoroughly deserve death, what about their mothers, their fathers and their brothers and sisters? Do they deserve to have their lives ruined by grief? And if that doesn't sway you, ponder this. If a third of the adult population die, what will happen to their children?"

"They'd be orphans. Like me," Rasaad admitted. "More numerous than the survivors could cope with. Those children would perish by the thousands."

"Hundreds of thousands," corrected Firkraag.

"Who brings in the harvest when there aren't enough farmhands left?" nodded Jaheira. "Who chops the firewood and catches the fish? It takes time to reorganize and replace that many workers. In the meantime, people go hungry. Basic resources would be scarce but the dead men's lands and riches plentiful. Faced with such a combination of threat and temptation you'd find the alignment of the survivors quick to change. The world would not stay evil-free for long."

"It would not be evil free at all. Only the sentient will die, not the beasts. The drow; gone. Illithids; gone. Beholders; gone. Sahuagin; gone," threatened Firkraag. "You may not like their kind or appreciate their customs, but it is they who keep the mindless monsters that lurk beneath the earth and sea in check."

"And the demons," Arowan said quietly. Her mind was on Ur-Gothoz. "Good and evil soldiers died side-by-side protecting our world in the Dragonspear Wars. How much simpler it would be to invade the prime when a third of its defenders are dead, and the rest have their hands full just trying to survive!"

Rasaad's brow knotted and Anomen began to pace agitatedly. They looked at Viconia and then at each other. They thought about the real consequences of murder on an unfathomable scale. First the monk and then the cleric slowly sat back down again.

"None of the gods want this," Firkraag said. "Or at least the few who do are too heavily outnumbered to matter. The evil gods will lose all of their followers. The good deities cannot stand by and watch the hundreds of thousands of innocents who will starve or fall prey to monsters in the aftermath. Meanwhile those powers of neutral alignment fear the chaos which will fill the power vacuum left behind."

"So they chose a champion," Arowan said grimly. This revelation had not shaken her determination to help Viconia in the slightest. On the contrary, it had strengthened it. Not only one city obliterated, but hundreds of them. Death beyond imagining. Life was sacred and it was the duty of every Ilmatari to prevent the cull from coming to pass. Even if it weren't, she would still fight it with her last breath. "So they chose _you._"

Everyone looked at Viconia, who for once was letting her vulnerability show on her face. She knew now that it was only through the repeated intervention of the gods that she had even kept herself alive, never mind anyone else. Saving one city had seemed feasible, but to oppose an enemy capable of annihilating a third of the world's population?

"I… I'm not sure I can do this," she quavered.

"Chin up Viconia. If you fail it's not the end of the world," Arowan said bracingly, patting her on the back. "…oh wait. No, scratch that. I guess it kind of is. At least the world as we know it."

"Odious rivvil," the drow mumbled, returning to regular insults. Slapping down an enemy seemed to revive a little of her normal hubris however, and she demanded of Firkraag, "Why me?"

The dragon swung his legs idly over the arm of the chair and made an impatient little noise. Servant of all Faiths or not, he still held mortals in contempt.

"Do not presume to bore me with imbecilic questions," he snorted. "How could I possibly know _why _you, when I didn't even know that it _was _you until a few minutes ago. You've had more time to think about this, so you tell me. Why do you think the gods chose you?"

Viconia had no ready answer to this question and the dragon snickered again.

"You seem awfully complacent about all this, Firkraag," Arowan observed. "If she fails, you'll die. Doesn't that bother you?"

Firkraag shrugged his shoulders and stretched out luxuriantly in the chair, letting his red hair spill down the cushions. When he yawned they got a good view of his teeth. Though brilliant white, they still had a certain fang-like quality. Then there were those vivid amber eyes. It was no wonder he had such an easy time replacing his followers. He could rival Freya in the charisma department.

"Not especially," he replied, indifferently. "Existential threats to our world crop up all the time. Most recently Caelar Argent's forces attempted to open up hell. The Red Wizards of Thay are messing around with wild mage brains in a manner that has the potential to go very wrong, and did I hear you mention Alorgoth before? I believe that he is scheming to flood the world with beings from the Shadow Plane in the not too distant future."

Rasaad's head jerked up.

"What do you know of Alorgoth?" he demanded.

Firkraag swung his legs down with a clunk and peered into Rasaad's face. He wore a superior expression and was being as patronizing as a wizard addressing a test-monkey.

"I know a great deal about a great many things, human. As I mentioned before, information is my hoard. Potential apocalypses happen every few years, it is a hazard of the magical realm we live in. When you've a lifespan of millennia, you learn to ignore them. The gods always find some mortal champion to avert the crisis. It's one of the reasons we have gods."

"Can you tell us anything about Irenicus?" asked Jaheira. "Or anything else about the prophecies surrounding the Servant of all Faiths?"

"I have told you all I know about the prophecies, as for Irenicus…" Firkraag's amber eyes flashed at Yoshimo and Arowan and both Ilmatari suddenly felt deeply uncomfortable. "Your collective knowledge may outweigh mine. Hmm?"

Suddenly Arowan was agreed with Yoshimo that it was time they got out of there. Irenicus had a great many nefarious and untrustworthy minions working under him. It was perfectly possible that one or more of them was also working for Firkraag. In which case, the dragon probably knew things about the two of them, Yoshimo especially, that she'd rather he didn't share.

"Well thank you this has been very informative," she said hastily. "Now we really must be going. We promised we'd meet some friends and they'll be wondering where we are."

"Wait!" Rasaad cried. "What do you know about Alorgoth?"

"What would such information be worth to you, pious one?" Firkraag asked. "You told me that the 'Great Evil' is a demon, and in exchange I told you what I know about the cull. What will you give me for this?"

"All of our gold and gems!" Rasaad volunteered. "Everything of value we are carrying. Our weapons even!"

This was met by a barrage of protest from the rest of the party. Jewels and trinkets were one thing, but they needed their weapons to survive, and none of the rest of them cared two straws about Alorgoth. Fortunately, their host was not tempted by Rasaad's rash offer.

"No," said Firkraag. "Have I not already told you that I have no interest in such things?"

"What then?" asked Rasaad desperately.

"Information," the dragon said. "Why have a huge pile of sapphires and rubies? You might as well pin up invitations in all the adventurer's taverns saying 'please come and murder me.' I like to know things. Who in this realm might have the power to challenge me? Where are they? What are they doing?"

Rasaad looked downcast. Then a mad, vengeful look flared in his eyes and Arowan grew worried. She knew that look and feared that if she did not intervene, his obsession with Alorgoth might lead him to threaten or even challenge Firkraag. That could only end badly for the group.

"I'll tell you things you don't already know," Arowan sighed. "About Irenicus, and the political situation in Baldur's Gate. Will that do?"

"We have a deal girl," the dragon grinned.

"Just myself and Yoshimo," the ranger insisted. "The rest of you wait up here."

This immediately got the others' hackles up. Naturally it sent Jaheira's suspicion of their thief skyrocketing, and with good reason. Her offer seemed to please their host, however.

"Secrets you do not even share with your own companions? This sounds promising," Firkraag chuckled, twirling a lock of scarlet hair about his fingers.

"We have secrets from each other now?" Jaheira demanded of Arowan.

"Do you tell me everything… Harper?" she replied.

She had a point, but it was clear that the druid did not like it. Firkraag left the rest of the party in Tazok's room and led Yoshimo and Arowan out onto the swinging bridge. His golems stood at either end like statues. The Kara-Turan eyed them mistrustfully and shivered.

* * *

* * *

"So, what have you got for me?" Firkraag asked, crossing his arms over one of the ropes holding up the bridge and surveying the gaping canyon below.

"Before we answer that, friend," Yoshimo began, "What guarantee do we have that you'll tell us what you know instead of, say, swallowing us whole?"

Firkraag grinned at him, and the thief took a hasty step backward.

"None really," he shrugged. "Though truth be told, between the stench of coriander and watching what your Sun Soul monk did to Tazok, I've rather lost my appetite."

So Arowan told the dragon what she knew. About the potential rebellion fermenting in Baldur's Gate, and Skie Silvershield's soul trapped in the dagger. He asked her about the Order of the Radiant Heart, and she informed him that they seemed to have no interest in Windspear.

"Excellent," Firkraag smiled. "So young Ajantis and his retinue were acting alone. I had heard as much from other sources but it is nice to have it confirmed. A plague of paladins would be most unwelcome. Go on."

She told him about Freya, and how she was supposed to be buried near Trademeet, but really Bodhi was wearing her as a fur coat. This pleased him greatly, and despite his charisma, his smugness was deeply off-putting.

"Gorion's favourite a vampire's anorak," he gloated. "Not exactly useful information, but most amusing… and entertainment is worth something. I am starting to see why you did not want your little companions present for this interview. Some of them were friends with the Hero of Baldur's Gate were they not? Go on."

Arowan wracked her brains for more but nothing else she knew concerned anyone powerful enough to peak his interest. Firkraag began to snort and twiddle his thumbs. She had not given him enough and their host was starting to lose patience.

"Tell him about Bubbles," Yoshimo suggested.

"Irenicus has made an alliance with a necromancer named Bubbles," she said reluctantly. She'd been hoping to avoid bringing their plan into it, in case the dragon had a mind to interfere. "He needs a powerful Bhaalspawn soul, we're not sure why. She's working on a way to bring back Eric of Candlekeep. We mean to disrupt the summoning and substitute Sarevok."

Firkraag's ginger eyebrows shot up into his flaming red locks.

"You plan to revive Sarevok Anchev?" he cried. "Why in Tiamat's name did you not lead with that? His return would turn the fate of the Sword Coast on its head!"

"Erm… Probably not…" Arowan suddenly felt an overpowering sense of guilt. "We're not expecting him to live very long after his revival."

This prompted a slew of other questions, as to why they were doing this. As she said it out loud the guilt twisted and coiled like a worm in her gut. It was wrong on every level, though the dragon did not seem to mind.

"Oh… I _like _you," Firkraag grinned devilishly. "I like you a lot. All that Ilmatari nonsense about 'please spare the troll cook who wanted to eat me' was quite convincing… but scratch the surface and you're a nasty piece of work. I would enjoy being a fly on the wall for the summoning ritual just to see Sarevok's face when he realises what he has returned to. Ah well. I daresay my agents will tell me all about it."

"You even have spies working for Irenicus who can get into the summoning room?" Yoshimo's eyes widened.

An impish expression took over the dragon's features. Standing on the swinging bridge, he took Yoshimo's hands in his left hand and Arowan's in his right. He tilted his head to one side slightly and smiled pityingly at their sheer stupidity.

"I do now. Don't I?"

Inside, both of the Ilmatari's hearts sank like lead. They now had not one evil master, but two. Three, if you counted Ur-Gothoz trying to manipulate Arowan. Firkraag quizzed them further, wanting every detail of the ritual and all that they could tell him about Bubbles. Finally, satisfied, he let them return to the others in Tazok's room.

"We could have avoided all of this if it weren't for those blasted dryads," Arowan grumbled quietly to Yoshimo. "Ungrateful sodding pixies!"

* * *

* * *

As soon as they re-entered the room, Rasaad jumped to his feet eagerly.

"Are you satisfied with your information?" Rasaad asked. Firkraag nodded curtly. "Then it is time to hold up your end of the bargain. What can you tell us about Alorgoth?"

"Very well," said Firkraag. He settled himself back into Tazok's chair, cleared his throat and examined his nails. Watching Rasaad get worked up with impatience was mildly entertaining. "Alorgoth believes that he can prevent the cull without the aid of the other gods, by unleashing his shadow creatures. The hubris of your kind never ceases to astound me. He is mistaken of course, but he cannot bring himself to accept that Shar chose somebody else."

Viconia had heard whispers of Alorgoth, the Bringer of Doom, and not only from Rasaad. It was said that he was a master of disguise, changing faces at will, forever scheming and plotting in the service of the Nightsinger. What was beyond any doubt was that he had the personal favour of her goddess. The idea of him being opposed to her calling made her uneasy.

"He has started a new cult called the Twofold Trust," Firkraag said, confirming Rasaad's suspicions. "It is nothing but a trap to expose those who are not truly loyal to Shar. His hope is that you, Servant of all Faiths, will step into it. My minions, I have many of them, keep me informed."

"You have spies in the Twofold Trust?" Rasaad asked.

"I have spies everywhere," Firkraag told them proudly. "Ever since that nasty business with Gorion, I have seen the merit of keeping a close watch on the plans of lesser races. Did you know that if army ants catch a panther sleeping, the tiny pests can strip it to the bone in minutes. It is much the same with humans and dragons. You'd seek to wear my hide and make a trophy of my head… but I will never be caught napping again."

"Where can I find the heretics?" the monk asked. He had little interest in, or sympathy with, the dragon's grievances.

"The heretics will meet at an abandoned amphitheatre a fortnight hence," Firkraag informed him coolly. "I will mark the location on your map. You must tell them that you 'seek truth in both light and shadow.'"

"Thank you," Rasaad replied. He was reticent about accepting the evil dragon's aid. Still, his desire to exact revenge on Alorgoth outweighed his scruples.

"A word of warning, Servant of all Faiths," Firkraag added, turning to Viconia. "Alorgoth is of the opinion that _he _ought to have been the Chosen One. He knows that Shar's favour has fallen upon another and his jealousy gnaws at him. This Twofold Trust is a trap to lure out doubters amongst the Dark Moon sect and obliterate them. But his primary target is you. If he discovers your identity you will be in grave peril. Tread carefully."

"I am the Servant of all Faiths," Viconia replied confidently. "You have witnessed for yourself that the gods will not allow me to be defeated."

"Shar is by her very nature a treacherous deceiver," Firkraag noted. "Alorgoth believes that his goddess is testing him, and that when he exposes you as weak in faith, he will be chosen in the end. How sure are you that he is wrong?"

"Dead certain," Rasaad said darkly. "Because I will kill him."

"That, and all the prophecies agree that the Chosen of all Faiths is a girl," Arowan pointed out mildly. "Less dramatic than your point Rasaad, but I thought it was worth mentioning anyway."

* * *

* * *

"Master! Master!" A huge, hairy wolfwere with salivating jaws burst into the room.

"I am busy," Firkraag replied, irritated.

"Apologies for interrupting your supper oh voracious and colossal one!" the wolfwere panted breathlessly. "But you asked to be informed if the rakshasa expedition managed to bypass the guardians."

"Yes?" Firkraag replied testily.

"They've bypassed the guardians."

"Those historians were rakshasa?" cried Arowan.

"Historians? Ha!" snarled Firkraag. "This accursed dungeon once belonged to a famous dragon hunter. He was buried here with his armour and weapons, which were most effective against my kind. I intended to destroy them, as I have many other such artefacts. Alas, these are guarded by an invisible spirit against which my fire did nothing. So I made my lair here that I might keep an eye on them."

"Will you be alright?" asked the ranger.

"First worrying about the troll who wants to cook you, now concerned for the dragon who meant to eat you," Yoshimo sighed. "This is why I call you my crazy lady."

"Oh yes," sneered Firkraag. "I will be fine, but the explorers won't. I deliberately instructed my guards to put up no more than a token resistance. If they succeed in retrieving the dragon-murder's arsenal I can finally destroy it. If they fail, that's a few more dead dragon hunters to add to my collection. A win-win. It does require my attention however, so I fear that our audience is at an end. Come."

He began to lead them back down the steps toward his hall. Nobody made to follow him.

"Do not be so craven! Truly, I have lost all interest in eating you. If there is a battle between my people and the tomb raiders, I cannot guarantee that the Servant of all Faiths will not be injured. Come with me and I will fly you to the surface."

They followed him down into the hall and Firkraag resumed his draconic form. At first Arowan assumed that they would ride on his back but this was easier said than done. He let Viconia take the best place, with her arms and legs wrapped about his scaly neck. In each of his front talons he grasped two of the party. Jaheira, who was left, automatically made for his rear claws but Firkraag shook his snake-like head.

"I think not. I need my back legs free to launch myself, and you'd be cut to ribbons on my tail spikes. Only one seat on the aircraft left I'm afraid. Hop aboard, Harper!" He lowered his head to the ground and opened his mouth wide.

"Absolutely not!" Jaheira exclaimed, folding her arms.

Yet in the end she had no choice. There were other ways Firkraag could have got them all out (for example by making two trips) but the dragon detested Harpers and loved mind games. Refusing the ride would be futile. He had demonstrated himself more than powerful enough to eat her on a whim. Reluctantly, the druid climbed into his mouth and grasped his fangs to steady herself. His breath was hot and beads of sweat began to trickle down the back of her neck.

With a noise like rolling thunder, Firkraag charged down the runway on his back legs. His wings pounded up and down sending a hurricane of wind through their hair. He had a tight grip and the four party members in his front talons winced uncomfortably as he squished them together, Anomen and Arowan in one set of claws, Rasaad and Yoshimo in the other.

Suddenly they found themselves gaining height, and Viconia cried out in delight, hugging the back of Firkraag's neck. The entrance of the cavern opened up above them and she soared from the hole on a dragon's back. Very few people in Faerun's history had ever been granted the honour of riding a dragon, and she was now among them.

When he landed in the cavern they had come in by, she slipped off him and landed neatly on the ground. Riding a dragon was an experience she would not forget if she lived another thousand years. She stroked his scales admiringly. Firkraag preened and grinned at the drow, who was the only one in the party who had enjoyed the experience. Then he opened his talons and the others sprawled to the floor in a heap.

All except Jaheira who was still in his mouth. A mouth which was now tightly shut. They could hear the druid's muffled curses and the sound of her staff uselessly pummelling the inside of his mouth. Arowan grew rather frightened, until they heard the wet schlurp of Firkraag summoning spit, and it became obvious what he was about to do.

He gobbed the Harper out forcefully into the opposite wall of the cavern. She hit it with a splatter and slid slowly to the floor down a waterslide of dragon spit.

Viconia, who was growing fond of Firkraag, laughed with pure happiness. The dragon winked his amber eye at her, then took off once more and slithered back into his hole to deal with the archaeologists.

"Cursed wyrm! Would that Gorion had slaughtered him when he had the chance!" Jaheira raged, though in a sotto scream so that Firkraag would not hear her. She staggered to her feet flicking off great sticky globs of dragon drool.

The dragon ride, Arowan being shot full of arrows, Rasaad defending her, and now this! It was one of the best days of Viconia's life, and she practically skipped out of the cave.

True, Firkraag's warning about Alorgoth was not ideal, but it was a whole fortnight before she would have to worry about that. For Viconia two weeks of safety was a phenomenally long time, and for once nothing horrible was going to come along and spoil it. They stopped by Garren Windspear's cabin to collect their things and say farewell, before heading out for Neera's Hidden Refuge. Gradually civilization receded and the forest grew denser. The wind had blown itself out while they were underground and a warm sunny day had taken its place. After a dip in the cool river to wash off the troll cook's herbs and Firkraag's slobber, even Jaheira began to enjoy herself.


	27. Don't Eat the Mushrooms

Naturally Jaheira wanted to know what Arowan had told Firkraag in secret, and her daughter knew it. So began a silent dance as they made their way toward the Hidden Refuge. Every time the druid approached her, Arowan slipped away from whoever she was currently walking with and attached herself to a new partner further ahead on the path. Eventually, though, she ran out of party members and Jaheira caught her.

"You are hiding something from me," Jaheira said accusingly. Arowan looked her square in the eye.

"I can't tell you what I told Firkraag," she replied stoutly. "There are things you can't tell me, about your work with the Harpers. I also have things I can't tell you."

"I assumed as much although I don't like it," the druid sighed, "But there is something else that you are keeping from me. Something about Imoen."

A stone sank in Arowan's stomach. Jaheira's contempt for the woman who killed her husband was obvious. All that stood between Freya and the widow's attempted revenge was the fact that she was dead. Only it wasn't Freya who had struck the killing blow, as Arowan had let her mother believe, but Imoen.

"What makes you say that?" asked the ranger. It sounded very much as though Jaheira might already have some inkling, but it was worth checking.

Jaheira stopped on the path and Arowan stopped with her. The older woman had her hand on her hip, her staff clutched menacingly in her hand, and a haughty expression on her face. Like Minsc, she had survived Irenicus's dungeon physically unscarred, bar a few scratches on her cheek. The wounds inside would take longer to heal.

"Why do I say that?" Jaheira scoffed. "Arowan, I have known you to spend your own gold resurrecting assassins whose mission it was to slaughter you. In Beregost you even revived the same one twice! You have leapt to the defence of Cyric-worshipping dragons, and pleaded the case of vampires even as they tried to latch their fangs about your throat. Yet you have abandoned Imoen to Irenicus."

A crease appeared between the ranger's eyes. This was something that bothered her from time to time. Though not nearly as much as it should.

"It's not like I have much choice," she replied, trying to convince herself more than anything.

That is true," Jaheira said, "But it isn't all of it. You have expressed no guilt, no frustration. Not once have you mentioned getting her back. At first, I thought it must be the effect of those numbing potions, but you are clean now and still, no mention of Imoen. What are you not telling me?"

Jaheira's eyes burned into hers, as though trying to reach into her skull and pluck the truth out. Arowan took a deep, shaky breath. She'd not told Jaheira for fear of what she might do to Imoen in retaliation. Yet she had a right to know how her husband had died, and since she had neither the power to slay nor save Imoen, perhaps it was better to tell her.

They had stopped walking and the rest of the party were getting further away. The druid listened patiently as Arowan described how Irenicus had tried to chip away the piece of Imoen's patchwork soul that had come from Freya, how he eventually succeeded in briefly returning it to its owner and how the shock had unhinged both women.

The part about the werewolf losing control and attacking Khalid, Jaheira already knew about. Most of the gruesome injuries on his body really had been inflicted by Freya.

"Then Imoen stood between them. You know how she…" Arowan winced. "How she felt about Khalid. Only she couldn't bring herself to hurt Freya either, Imoen carries a piece of her soul. Unfortunately, Freya didn't have any of _Imoen's _soul, so that unconditional loyalty was totally one way. Wolf-Freya went straight for her throat. That's when Irenicus skinned her."

"Because Imoen's piece of your soul is anchoring the rest of it?" Jaheira surmised. "If she'd died and taken those pieces of souls to the Abyss with her, he would have lost all three of you?"

Arowan nodded. Then shuddered. The memory of the living but skinless wolf would never leave her. Sometimes she dreamed about the night Khalid had died, and woke crushingly sad. Yet the thing that caused her to wake up screaming, was reliving Freya's final moments.

"Do you… do you remember the tanks in Irenicus's dungeon?" she asked.

"I am unlikely ever to forget those tanks," Jaheira replied dryly, "In this life or the next."

"Irenicus meant to put Freya in one, to keep her alive. He left the room to prepare it (the only one big enough to hold her had a live beholder inside it apparently). While he was gone Dad… Khalid… he put Freya out of her misery. Sword to the neck. Without her hide to protect her, it was quick."

"He should have let her suffer!" Jaheira spat, "After what she did to him!"

"Dad didn't die from his injuries," Arowan said quietly. They were getting to the crux of the matter now. "They were bad, but survivable."

"Irenicus killed him?" Jaheira guessed. "In revenge for depriving him of Freya."

"No."

The druid's face hardened. Arowan thought she saw reflected in her eyes the same hatred that she herself had been harbouring to Imoen all these long months. Her lips thinned and her fingers tightened in a death-grip about her oaken staff.

"I see." Jaheira said in a voice like steel.

"Imoen killed Khalid," Arowan confirmed. "You saw how she reacted to Baeloth for his role in Eric's death and how she reacted to Irenicus when he threatened to kill me. It was just like that."

"If you're about to plead that it isn't her fault, save your breath!" snapped Jaheira. "I'm in no humour for your Ilmatari rubbish."

They walked on, for the others were a long way ahead now. The road had dwindled to little more than a muddy trail, and they had lost sight of the rest of the party amid the trees. Both ranger and druid felt at home here beneath the canopy of leaves. It made the conversation easier.

"I don't have the power to save Imoen from Spellhold, and I'm glad I don't." Arowan said after a while. "Because if I did, I honestly don't know whether I'd use it."

"You would."

A finch in a nearby tree struck up a sudden tweeting, making them jump. It was an astonishing noise from such a tiny bird. As a lonely little girl growing up in Candlekeep, Arowan had liked to listen to bird song and try to work out what they were saying. These days she knew exactly what his heartfelt twittering meant: _Hey! Other finches! Sod off out of my territory! Unless you're a lady-finch in which case, get your fine feathery booty over here and let's make some eggs!_

"I hate her!" Arowan burst out suddenly, causing the finch to fly to a higher branch in alarm. "Unfair though that is, because it really wasn't her fault. Sometimes I think Gorion was right about her all along. Maybe she's not a real person. Just this miserable abomination cobbled together from bits of soul that don't belong together. Part of me… part of me is glad that she's suffering, because she has made me suffer. I miss Dad every day and she killed him. I don't want to feel like this anymore Mum. I'm scared of what I'm becoming."

Jaheira shook her head, and placed her arm about Arowan's shoulders.

"You expect too much of yourself child," she said gently. "You hold yourself to too high a standard. Hate and anger are natural and a part of life. Revenge for those slain unjustly is an important part of the balance, and we shall have ours. One day."

Arowan couldn't tell whether Jaheira was referring to Irenicus or Imoen, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know. It was a non-issue anyway. Both were beyond her reach. She said nothing more until the group made camp for the night.

* * *

* * *

The rest of the journey passed uneventfully. Viconia set snares in the wood as Arowan had shown her before they went to sleep. First thing in the morning the drow stepped out, barefoot amongst the bracken, complaining every time she trod on a twig, just to inspect them. To her delight and astonishment, she found a rabbit in one of them and grew ridiculously overexcited about it. Especially since Arowan's own snares had caught nothing.

"I suppose it shouldn't surprise me that I have a natural aptitude for hunting," Viconia boasted smugly, as though she had brought down a whole herd of deer single-handed. "Drow possess an innate mastery of traps and slaughter. Arowan! Skin it for me."

"Have Rasaad do it," replied Arowan. This was not, as Viconia immediately assumed, sour grapes. Between what had happened to Freya and their encounters with Rejiek Hidesman, the ranger had developed an intense aversion to skinning anything, dead or alive.

She was still willing to eat her small share of the meat, when it went diced into a stew for their lunch, well aware of how hypocritical that was. Yet her days of preparing kills herself were behind her.

As they approached the Hidden Refuge, the forest about them slowly began to change. It was barely noticeable at first. The trunks and boughs of the trees began to grow sideways like hunchbacks, or twisted like corkscrews. It was as if they were confused about which direction the sun was coming from.

They were a little sparser too, allowing a dense, long grass to grow in the spaces between them. These grasses rustled constantly with the chirruping of crickets and once or twice Arowan's keen eyes made out the lurking tail of a snake.

"This is the place," declared Anomen, double checking their map. "But no sign of Minsc. He probably marked the wrong forest, poor confounded buffoon."

After a few hours of fruitless searching, they eventually gave up and made camp. Arowan took her bow and set off into the trees to see if there was anything to eat. Yet apart from the snakes and their cricket-lunches, the forest seemed peculiarly depopulated. A few squirrels peeped out curiously from the treetops. She could have shot them, but it would have been a lot of furry little lives to end for not a lot of meat. So she left them alone.

There were mushrooms here too. Large flat-capped fungi the size of dinner plates. Not that there was anything so very unusual about that. Only as night fell they began to glow green, pink and blue. So bright that they reminded her of lights at a carnival.

"_Pssst!"_

"Who said that?" Arowan cried, notching an arrow in her bow and looking around in alarm. There was nobody to be seen, neither sneaking around in the trees nor up in the dark green foliage above.

"_Pssst!"_

"Neera? Is that you?" Arowan cried, backing into a tree so that nobody could come at her from behind. Its bark felt rough and scratchy through her shirt, yet this tree seemed to pulse with an unnatural warmth. It made her feel oddly comfortable and sleepy. Her feet rustled as she shuffled about in the ferns growing at its base.

"_Down here!"_

She stopped scanning the inky shadows around her for assassins, and looked down. The ground was lit by the glow from the mushrooms. There was nothing there except for ferns, fallen twigs and dirt. Well that and…

"_Looking for something to eat?" _the voice crooned temptingly. _"Why not try one of us?"_

…the glowing mushrooms.

"Oh no," grinned Arowan, waggling a reproving finger at them. She'd not touched any ale that evening, but it felt like she'd drunk half a bar. A happy, woozy feeling was coming over her. If she weren't so peckish this would be the perfect time to curl up under her tree for a nice nap. "I'm not eating talking mushrooms. Especially not glowing ones."

"_We weren't suggesting you should!" _lied the mushrooms, shaking their caps innocently. _"We just wanted to point out the bird's nest up above you. Nice, fresh eggs…"_

Arowan looked up. The branches above her were kind of swimming around, but if she focussed then yes, there was indeed a large nest in easy reach above her head.

"I don't really like taking eggs from nests," she mumbled drowsily. "Always think how heartbroken their parents must be when they come back to find it empty."

"_So just take a couple and leave the rest. Birds can't count," _the mushrooms suggested helpfully. _"Come on. How are you supposed to make a mushroom omelette if you don't have any eggs?"_

"Good point… NO!" Arowan cried suddenly. Where were the others? She couldn't remember. All of her movements felt strange and sluggish. Everything seemed fine, she was perfectly merry, yet the part of her mind that was still functioning knew she was in danger. "You're not catching me out that way."

"_You're too smart for us," _agreed the mushrooms, bending their stalks to nod in unison. _"We're too good to be true. Big, succulent, juicy mushrooms. Perfect in a soup, delicious grilled on toast, or raw as a snack. There must be a catch. You don't want to eat us."_

"Nice try," said Arowan. "I'm not falling for reverse psychology."

She tore herself away from the tree, though the warmth was incredibly comfortable, and her body was screaming with tiredness. For some reason she felt too dizzy to walk, so instead she fell to all fours and began crawling in the direction she hoped was camp. Unfortunately this brought her face-to-cap with a patch of mushrooms.

"_You don't look so good," _they said, their mouthless voices full of concern. _"Hey! You should eat something! That'll make you feel better. How about one of us? We're the perfect pick-me-up, packed with vitamins."_

"I… think… I'd better be going… now…" she managed. Her arms were unsteady. She thought she was moving forward but she wasn't quite sure. Nothing she looked at would stay in focus for more than a few seconds at a time.

"_Hey…" _crooned the mushrooms, _"Don't forget about us. You needed a snack, remember?"_

"Oh… right.." murmured Arowan, who was having difficulty keeping her eyes open. "Thanks for reminding me…"

She reached out her fingers and plucked the nearest mushroom; a big, plump blue one. It seemed to be guiding her hand to her mouth almost of its own accord. All the hypnotized ranger could do was open wide and watch its approach with fascination.

"Do not eat those mushrooms!" Yoshimo's voice rang in her ear, as though from a great distance. She ignored him. "I am no expert on flora, but you are making a mistake my friend… I cannot let you do this!"

Suddenly a heavy weight cannoned into her flank. She tumbled sideways with a yelp, dropping the shroom, and the haze lifted. He pinned her down, and at first she struggled like an eel, trying to get back to the mushrooms. It took a great deal of effort on Yoshimo's part to keep her from them, until she came fully to her senses and stopped fighting him.

"Sorry!" she panted, looking up into his face. "I've no idea what got into me. It was like they were calling me to eat them."

"I thought you were supposed to be the expert on woodland critters?" Yoshimo teased, his dark hair spilling down over her.

"I'm not sure I'd describe these things as 'woodland critters,'" said Arowan. "They've been tampered with, the whole forest has."

She suddenly found herself forgetting all about food. Yoshimo leaned in and brushed his mouth questioningly over her own. Another split second and the ranger would have closed her eyes. Had she done so, the evening would have taken a very nasty turn indeed.

This was because the mushrooms were most displeased that they were not about to be eaten after all. She could tell from the way their caps had changed from glowing pinks, greens and blues to a dangerous throbbing red. They were swelling and growing larger before their eyes, pulsating threateningly.

Yoshimo noticed that she was distracted and looked up. There was a mushroom right in front of his nose which had swollen to the size of his head. With every pulse it was getting bigger, and starting to shake on its stem unstably.

"Er, should we be running?" Arowan asked.

"Yes," agreed Yoshimo, releasing her arms and pulling her hastily to her feet. "I think that running would be a very good idea."

Blinding scarlet light flashed and the trees shook violently all around them. They hadn't got ten paces when the first mushroom exploded, with easily enough force to take off a man's foot. It set off a chain reaction of incendiary shrooms and soon they were pelting back in the direction of camp.

* * *

* * *

Arowan and Yoshimo emerged into the clearing where the others had pitched their tents, leaving behind them smouldering bracken, bright flares and deafening bangs.

"What happened?" cried Rasaad, who alongside Anomen was on his feet, ready for a battle.

"Keep away from the mushrooms!" Arowan cried. "Those things are seriously bad news. They got mad when Yoshi stopped me from eating them and blew up!"

"You were going to eat _those?_" Anomen exclaimed, staring in disbelief at the fluorescent mushrooms. "I do not claim such great knowledge of wild plants as you and my beautiful, charming lady Jaheira. Yet even I can tell that eating these specimens would be a serious error of judgement."

"They sort of hypnotized me," Arowan muttered defensively.

"We'd better get rid of the ones around the camp," Yoshimo suggested.

Viconia and Jaheira nodded and began incantations. What spells the pair of them had been intending to use on the mushrooms, the others never found out, because the drow disappeared leaving her clothes behind her and Jaheira turned lilac. The druid had little immediate concern for the lost cleric, but was inspecting herself, livid.

"What just happened?" she demanded through purple-blue lips. Only her hair, which was a wig and not part of her natural body, remained its normal colour. "I look like a giant xvart!"

"Viconia!" Rasaad panicked, skidding to a halt beside the vacant pile of clothes. "Where did she go? Viconia where are you?"

There was a rustling in the clothes pile, accompanied by indignant squeaking. Rasaad rummaged amongst the leathers, untangling black laced underwear that made him blush. Eventually he managed to free a sleek silver rat with black paws and markings on its face. He let the animal scamper onto his palm and held it close to his face, squinting at it with concerned dark eyes.

"Viconia? Is that you?" he asked. The rat responded by plunging her sharp little teeth into his nose. Rasaad yelped in pain, but had the self-discipline not to throw the creature. It released him, watching smugly as blood dripped onto his lip. "Yes, this is definitely Viconia."

Just then there was a pattering of feet and Neera, looking unusually dishevelled even by her standards, burst into the glade. One look at Jaheira's lilac face seemed to confirm her fears.

"What happened? What happened?" Neera cried. Her eyes fell on Viconia, washing her little black paws in Rasaad's hands. The wild mage nibbled her lip guiltily. "Oh… sorry."

"You did not think to _warn _us about this forest?" Jaheira asked, glaring imposingly at her fellow spell caster. "First Arowan was attacked by magic mushrooms and now.. this!"

"Sorry, sorry," winced Neera. The others got the impression that she had to make these sorts of apologies a lot. "I thought you guys were going to free those druids and come straight away, so I waited for you. Only days went by, and you didn't come, and I got hungry and bored…"

"We got side-tracked," Jaheira said, tapping her purple foot impatiently. "By a rogue dragon. Who, ironically, did us less harm than you."

"It should be easy enough to fix. We'll just de-polymorph Viconia and Jaheira, you'll have to be squeezed to get the purple out. Only maybe wait until after you're clear of the Wild Forest? This whole region is a wild magic zone. Trying to undo what you just did here will probably make it worse. Or different."

Viconia squeaked rapidly in protest at being made to be a rat a moment more.

"I'm really, really sorry," Neera pleaded.

"Don't be, it's a marvellous improvement," remarked Arowan.

Viconia scampered forward in Rasaad's hands, indicating that she wanted to go to Neera instead. The wild mage, who was not well acquainted with the drow, was unwise enough to take her. Everyone else was still slightly too annoyed to yell a warning. The wild mage smiled and stroked Viconia's silvery rat-head. Moments later she was shrieking with shock and disgust, with the Viconia-rat's piddle dripping down her fingers.

Before Neera could retaliate, Viconia scuttered down, sprinted the short distance across the forest floor as fast as her little legs would carry her, and climbed back up Rasaad's trousers. She sought sanctuary in the monk's shirt, just like Boo often did with Minsc. Her little black paws latched onto his collar and she rode pressed against his muscular torso. As her head poked out just below his chin, beady red eyes peered malevolently at the world.

"What's the point of having the Hidden Refuge?" asked Arowan, as the unfortunate wild mage wiped rat pee onto the grass.

"It's a camp I and some other wild mages set up as a sanctuary for people like us," Neera replied, relieved to have a change of subject. "The Red Wizards have been actively pursuing us lately. It seems like every Red Wizard in Thay is on my tail… except for the one we're actually looking for."

"I meant what's the point of setting it up here," she said specifically. "In a wild magic zone?"

"Well… it wasn't a wild magic zone until we came," Neera confessed awkwardly. "So many of us in one place kind of affected the weave. Plus… we added a lot of defences in case the Red Wizards attack us. It was lucky you set the mushrooms off or I might never have found you."

"You put those mushrooms there on purpose?" spluttered Yoshimo.

"Yeah, cool, aren't they?" beamed Neera, totally misreading the mood. "Their spores make invaders real woozy so we can knock them out without hurting them. If that doesn't work, they blow up and no more Red Wizard! I wanted to skip the spores and go straight for the explosions but Hayes said that was 'unethical'"

"What about the eating them part?" Arowan asked. "Those shrooms were pretty insistent on me eating them."

"Oh, that was my idea," the wild mage replied proudly. "One nibble and… you… er.. you didn't actually eat any of them, did you?"

"No…" grimaced Arowan.

"No, I suppose you'd know if you had," nodded Neera. "One bite would give you insane stomach cramps and runny poop for a week, and I don't mean the normal squirts. I'm talking about such a heavy river flowing out of your butt the cartographers of the Sword Coast would have to update their maps. If Hayes won't let me kill the Red Wizards, I can at least make them _wish_ they were dead, right?"

"I have changed my mind," Arowan said decisively. "Sod you, sod Minsc, sod Edwin and sod the Servant of all Faiths. I'm leaving this disgusting forest, and I'm leaving it now!"

"Oh no don't be like that!" wheedled Neera. "I can get you straight to the hidden refuge. It's ten minutes away. Forty minutes if we take the long way, which we will be doing, because the short way is guarded by a giant snake."

Nobody was up for taking down their tents and hiking another forty minutes just to put them up again, so the party decided to stay put until morning. They made a small crackling fire, which they lit with fire arrows rather than their usual magic.

It was nice to sit out beneath the stars, so much brighter than in Athkatla with its ever burning streetlamps. Nicer still if they could have had a bit more to eat, but they had not liked to take even more of poor Garren Windspear's meagre supplies and their own were running very low. Even with Neera sharing hers, the only one of them with a full belly was the Viconia-rat.

She had adapted to her new form with remarkable speed, and was perched on Rasaad's knee while he meditated, cleaning her whiskers. Every so often she would arch her back and vibrate her ears. It probably meant something in rat body-language, but if their druid knew what, she wasn't sharing.

One by one they retired to their tents. Unlike in the early days of their adventuring when they had all been perpetually broke, these days they had the luxury of their own small space. Neera slept in Viconia's since the rat did not need a whole berth to herself. Instead she snuggled down happily as a rat on Rasaad's chest.

The monk peered down at the silvery creature, nestled between Selune's blinded eyes. It seemed like a lifetime ago that the Cyric temple dragon's claws had torn across his torso and half-gutted him. Viconia had been with him through that, and with him through everything really. He stroked her fur with one finger and she squeaked contentedly.

* * *

* * *

Meanwhile just as Arowan was dozing off…

"_Pssst!"_

"ARRRRGGHH! THE MUSHROOMS ARE BACK!" Arowan screamed. She had just fallen asleep and, unable to wake sufficiently to unglue her eyes, snatched up her bow and shot blindly at the source of the noise.

"ARRRRGH! CACKHANDED CRETIN!" came the response. It was not a mushroom. It was Anomen. He had been attempting to enter her tent and she had shot him in her dozy state. At least it wasn't with a fire arrow. She sat up, blinking blearily. Gritting his teeth, the cleric yanked it out with a grunt of pain.

"You had that coming," Yoshimo said. He had come running at the sound of Arowan screaming. Though the thief had found Anomen's first attempt at courting her amusing, this time it was obvious from his expression that he thought it had gone too far. "She made it clear she wasn't interested."

"I just wanted to talk to her about a private matter!" Anomen hissed, as the others approached them. He turned to the ranger. "I need the thing you promised me!"

"The thing I… what are you talking about?"

Anomen made a circle with his thumb and forefinger and mimed putting his index finger through it. The Kara-Turan goggled at her, unable to believe that she would promise him _that. _Perhaps she hadn't. Their ranger looked totally baffled, and it was only as the druid arrived at the scene that the penny dropped.

"This is not good, we cannot heal it here," Jaheira said, inspecting Anomen's wound. She was still as purple as ever. "I will have to bandage the entry point as best I can and apply what herbs I have."

"Here," said Arowan, pressing something small into the palm of Anomen's hand. "The thing you came for. I want it back before we go to the Umar Hills, understood?"

The young man nodded gratefully, despite his pain and slipped it into his pocket. Then Jaheira half-dragged him away to patch him up as best she could in a wild magic zone. Yoshimo was standing over Arowan, arms folded and glaring suspiciously. She rolled her eyes at him.

"I offered to lend him the Charisma Ring for a bit," she whispered. "To help him practise talking to women in a not-awful way. Maybe once he's done it a few times he'll get the hang of it on his own."

"Ah! So he was miming putting a _ring _onto his _finger!_" the thief exclaimed. "It looked like he was gesturing something else."

Arowan rolled her eyes again.

"Get your mind out of the gutter! The only possibility of _that _ever happening was if the Unseeing Eye Cult had actually plucked my eyes out. Even then they'd have needed to take my ears too," she said. "I said I'd lend him the Charisma Ring at the next tavern we came to, but I expect he wants it now because Neera is here."

* * *

* * *

Alas Anomen's romantic plans were foiled, for instead of reciting poetry to Neera beneath the stars, he was having an evil-smelling poultice stuffed into his wound by Jaheira. At least the Charisma Ring might still be of some use to him. If he could use it to persuade her to be more gentle. Being turned purple had put her into a foul mood and she was treating his wound more roughly than was strictly necessary.

Flippant remarks had been on the tip of his tongue. Suggestive comments about how they were alone in a tent together and she was touching his chest. The moment the ring was on, however, it sent an urgent warning through his finger, up his arm and to his brain. He had always considered such banter with women to be, at worst, a compliment. Thanks to the Charisma Ring it was occurring to him for the first time that they might be taken as disrespectful and childish.

"Thank you for sorting my arrow wound," he surprised himself by saying. "Those must have been quite some mushrooms to get Arowan so rattled. I must confess myself sorely tempted to bring one back and plant it in the Order Headquarters. In the interests of the party's safety I shall refrain, however."

Jaheira's lip twitched. She took a bandage and wrapped it around his chest. It made it uncomfortable to breathe as well as smushing the herbs in deeper. Yet instead of telling the ham-fisted wench to be more careful (which would have been his usual response) the Charisma Ring told him to grit his teeth and tough it out in manly silence.

"Ah, look!" Jaheira smiled, raising her hand to the lamp light. "The lilac is wearing off."

"I suppose you won't need to have it squeezed out after all," Anomen smiled. "Though I was mildly curious as to what that procedure involved."

"I am happy to remain in ignorance," the druid said wryly.

"Speaking of being happy to remain ignorant, I may regret my next question," he began, "But what exactly is in that poultice you used to plug my chest? It feels a lot better already."

So the druid told him what the herbs were and where he might find them. To his surprise he actually found it interesting and they talked long into the night about the differences between cleric and druid healing methods.

It wasn't what he had expected from the Charisma Ring. Nor was it, in all honesty, what he had been hoping for. Magic quick pick-up lines guaranteed to lure attractive women into his bed had been the goal. Instead, for the first time in his life, he was having a normal conversation with a woman outside of his own family.

Not as good as losing his virginity… but a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tribute to the delicious talking mushrooms from 10th Kingdom.


	28. Coran and Safana

Next morning, Rasaad awoke to excruciating pain. He had been starting to roll over in his sleep and, finding herself at risk of being crushed, rat-Viconia nipped his nipple.

In his agony he found a stream of bad language spilling from his mouth. Words which had not passed his lips since his days as an orphan in Calimport. At first it surprised Viconia that the innocent moon boy even _thought _such curses, but then his life had not always been one of monastic serenity. His earliest memories had involved loitering around fighting pits and then, after his father died, the alleys.

As Rasaad struggled to wrap his half-asleep brain around what had just happened, the rat glared at him accusingly and scampered onto his pillow. There she washed her face with her fussy little paws, making squeaking noises.

"Good morning," said Rasaad stiffly. "Would you like some breakfast?"

"Squeak," replied Viconia, with a curt nod.

"Then you should not have bitten me," he said. The rat's tiny red eyes bulged with fury at his defiance. "And if you attempt to retaliate by biting me again," the monk went on, "I shan't carry you anymore and you will have to get Arowan to give you a lift."

The rat bristled. All the silver fur along her back lifted into little spikes like the spine of a lizard, and they quivered with fury. Yet it was obvious that he meant what he said, so she allowed him to scoop her up and carry her outside to meditate. She curled up sulkily on his knee, hungry and cross. Every so often she looked at him and her tail twitched.

Arowan and Yoshimo had already taken down their own tents and were helping Anomen, whose arrow wound had grown more uncomfortable in the night. Jaheira peeled away the binding so that she could poke at it and make tutting sounds.

"I think it best if we split up temporarily," she said. "Anomen needs healing properly and I cannot do it in the wild forest. We will make our way to the Umar Hills and wait for you there. Do not dawdle."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you didn't like this forest much," Arowan replied shrewdly. "I'd say you were looking for an excuse to leave."

"I do not and I am," the druid admitted. "Nature has been warped and twisted. It is a travesty against the trees and animals who made this place their home. Though I acknowledge that it is not your fault, wild mage."

"No offence taken," Neera replied cheerfully. "Well… some offence taken. I mean we have to be somewhere, and wherever we are these things happen. It's just a bit more concentrated in this wood because there are so many of us."

"Perhaps we could stop at Trademeet. I am curious to see how those statues are coming on," suggested Anomen. Then, prompted by the Charisma Ring he added, "And to check on how those druids are faring, of course."

"Yes... Anomen? A word before you go?" Arowan said sharply.

She drew the cleric away from the others, watched by curious eyes. Yoshimo, however, was not concerned. He guessed correctly what it was she wanted from Anomen. The Charisma Ring back.

"You have my word of honour that I will return your ring, but I wouldst tarry a while," Anomen said in a low voice. "We shall stop at the tavern in Trademeet and no doubt there will be an inn when we reach the Umar Hills. Might I keep it a little longer?"

Arowan's eyes narrowed suspiciously. She glared at him, chewing his request over.

"One condition Anomen."

"Anything!" he cried eagerly.

"I want your solemn oath, sworn on the Holy Book of Helm, that you will not use the Charisma Ring to make a pass at my mother."

The cleric allowed himself a wry smile. Under the ring's influence he was beginning to see the flaws in his women seducing strategy. The main one being approaching women _strategically _in the first place as opposed to just being himself. Only he'd never much liked himself, so why should anyone else?

"I am not sure the ring even works on me," he admitted. "I didn't see any difference in my reflection when I put it on."

"I don't think that's how it works," Arowan said, tipping her head to one side thoughtfully. "Do you already like how you look?"

How he looked was about the only thing Anomen did like about himself. Tall, toned from years of intense training with thick hair and a neatly cropped beard. Anomen was a handsome man and he knew it, but he didn't think he had much else going for him.

"Freya's charisma was magically enhanced, more so even than this ring can do," Arowan recalled. "But her brand of charisma was very different from, say, Caelar Argent's. Caelar's was different again from Keldorn's. There are different ways to be charismatic. I think the ring does different things for different people."

"You think it is having an effect then?" Anomen asked, glumly.

"Yes," she replied. "I think it turns us all into our own version of charismatic. Still essentially based on our real selves, but more how we'd like to be."

"Says a lot about me," he spat, his voice suddenly filled with self-loathing. "For you the ring just inflates your chest a bit and shuffles around a few freckles. But for me it's my whole personality that's wrong. What does that tell you?"

Arowan thought about this question. Actually the ring had changed her way of interacting with people too, but more subtly than it had for Anomen.

"It tells me that the kind of person you'd _like _to be isn't an arse," she said with a half-smile. "And maybe that's the first step on the path to _really _not being an arse. How about that?" He did not look entirely comforted so she added, "Hey, that's your fault for keeping the ring. If I were wearing it, I could have conjured up a much better answer."

"At least it was an honest answer," the cleric assured her. "Thank you for the loan of the ring. Jaheira and I shall meet you in the Umar Hills. Perhaps if we can fix whatever dreary nonsense the Order is sending us after, those pompous pigs might leave us in peace for a while." He paused. "By the way, I notice that Yoshimo was most protective of you when he thought I was trying to enter your tent. Are you two… ah…?"

"Yeah," said Arowan with a small smile. It made her feel fuzzy inside to think so. "Yeah we are."

It was only after Anomen and Jaheira had been gone for some time, that it dawned on the ranger that he'd never actually promised not to try again with her mother. Still, Jaheira was perfectly capable of looking after herself, so she put it out of her mind.

* * *

* * *

Cleric and druid left the wild forest, to the immense relief of both of them. Not least because it meant that Anomen could finally heal his wounds. The young man watched his skin knit itself around the arrow wound with a thoughtful expression. This spell came too late to prevent it from scarring, but the mark was small.

Not that he minded scars. When he had still been with the Order, he had practically competed with the other squires to obtain the largest battle marks. There was a slice across his right eye that he had intentionally skirted having healed in the hope that it might leave an impressive gash. He wished it gone now. It was not the mark of a warrior but the vanity of a fool.

These thoughts remained with him all the way to Trademeet. As they passed through the town to cheery welcomes from those who recognized him, his spirits barely lifted. Even the sight of his own statue, which was handsome and imposing enough to turn the most snobbish Order Knight green with envy, could not snap him out of his brooding.

"You seem in a melancholy humour," Jaheira observed sharply. "I trust that this is not a prelude to some knightly sighing and swooning?"

They crossed the threshold of the inn. His mind turned to the Charisma Ring, knowing that the place was bustling with potential love interests and that he wouldn't have the artefact for long. His eye was caught by a slim, dark-haired woman playing with her dagger at a corner table. She smiled at him and gave him what might have been a seductive wink. Yet still, he could muster no enthusiasm.

"Forgive me my lady Jaheira, I…" Anomen began, but he was immediately cut off.

"Surely you cannot blame the boy for a little sighing and swooning," crooned a familiar voice from behind her. "The gods themselves would swoon for… Do my eyes deceive me? Jaheira?! JAHEIRA IS THAT YOU?"

"Who… oh." Jaheira's insides turned to lead.

"I told you Safana! I told you! I told Safana those statues they're carving in the marketplace were supposed to be you and Arrow!" he grinned. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet like an excited puppy, but the druid had a feeling that she was about to spoil his mood. "We heard a rumour, but when you weren't here, my Saffy wanted to leave and keep looking, but then I saw those statues and I said we should wait!"

He said all of this very fast.

Though Jaheira had not known the elf well, his green mask and lopsided haircut were very distinctive. Anomen was looking at the pair of them quizzically, as Coran swept her into an excited hug. She screwed her eyes shut as the memory of Irenicus's dungeon and the painful loss she had endured there surged through her.

For Coran's excitement had nothing to do with her. The elf did not, could not, know what had become of his best friend. Yet surely he must have heard that she and Khalid had been part of the group who set out with Freya to retrieve Soultaker.

Sure enough, it was the first question he asked her.

"_Well? _Jaheira, where's Freya?" he cried, so loudly that the whole inn went quiet and stared at them. A flicker of doubt crossed his face but only for a moment. "Where is she?"

The druid found herself so blindsided and drunk on adrenaline, that the world around her took on a surreal clarity. Everything seemed so much sharper and brighter, from the grey rat in the corner to the jingle of Safana's coin purse as she hurried over to join them. Her abandoned knife swayed on its point on the table, before falling as if in slow motion. The metallic clatter as it hit the ground rang like a bell in her brain.

"Is she here? Is she with you?" Coran panted, releasing her from the hug and seizing her shoulders. There was a desperate note to the hope in his voice. It had been two seasons since anyone saw Freya alive. He must have heard the rumours. His green eyes drilled into hers. As her hesitation spoke the words she was struggling to get out, something behind them seemed to break. "Jaheira… please…"

"Is she dead?" demanded Safana in a very business-like way.

"Yes," replied Jaheira. She took a deep shuddering breath and got a grip on herself. "Freya is dead. Irenicus killed her."

Anomen knew nothing about the elf and little about Freya, but it was clear that they must have been close. For the force of Coran's distress reminded him sharply of his own reaction upon learning of Moira's murder.

"You're lying!" Coran hurled at Jaheira. "I don't believe you!"

"Coran-" the druid began patiently. He was behaving just as she had on learning of Khalid's death.

"Freya was one of the most powerful adventurers who ever lived! How could her party have escaped and not her?" he half-screamed. "That doesn't make any sense. Did you abandon her? Did you betray her to Irenicus? Is she still his prisoner? ANSWER ME!"

"Watch your words, thief. My husband died with Freya."

All the colour had faded from his face. His startling green eyes began blinking back tears as the truth sunk in. Coran doubled over, knuckles white from gripping a wooden bar stool. For a moment it looked as though he might be sick. It was hard to see another person in so much pain.

Hard for everyone except one onlooker. Safana slipped her hands over Coran's shoulders and stroked him soothingly. Her voice was sympathetic, her expression sombre and yet her eyes were dancing with joy.

"I'm so sorry," Safana drawled. "We'll all miss her deeply. Maybe we should have a service or something. Yes! That's a good idea. At least now we know and all that."

Coran had known Safana long enough to recognize her insincerity when he heard it, which was more or less constantly. She was the longest relationship he had ever had, and it was her cynical greed which made her so fascinating to him. Yet as far as Freya was concerned, it was unbearable. Safana had some valid reasons for her indifference to their former friend (among other offences, Freya had exiled them both from Baldur's Gate) and he could not blame her for it. Only right now he could not stay and listen to her either.

With nothing but the cloak on his back, he fled the pub and ran off into the night.

"Sorry about that. As you can see, he is deep in denial," Safana remarked.

"Should we go after him?" Anomen asked doubtfully. Jaheira shot him a sideways look, knowing what he was thinking. The last time the failed knight had left this particular inn in a state it had been with the intention of ending his life.

"He'll be fine. Let him go," Safana said dismissively. "So, the Bitch of Baldur's Gate is dead. Do you have any proof?"

Jaheira drew herself up indignantly.

"Do you think I would lie to you about this?" she thundered. "Did you not hear me say that Khalid died with her?"

"Yes, yes. So sorry for your loss," replied Safana. She was trying to feign sympathy but failed to hide the bite of impatience in her tone. "Of course _I _believe you. I knew that she'd been slain long before you told me. It has been two seasons past without a peep from her. That woman was a living beacon for attention and drama. Everyone saw her, and nobody ever forgot her. She couldn't take a piss unnoticed. How could it be that nobody has seen her in so long unless she's dead? The proof isn't for me."

"Coran knows deep down. Give it time to sink in."

"I don't need to prove it to Coran," Safana said, trying to hide her eagerness. She paused, then said delicately, "Coran is a romantic soul, not a pragmatist. His best friend is dead and right now he can only think about what he has lost. Not what he has _gained._"

She was steering the pair of them toward the bar, where she ordered three wines. The most expensive reds on the menu. Jaheira swirled the ruby liquid about in her glass, thinking of blood, as Safana's golden coins rolled across to the barman. Blood and gold. She took a sip, and the oaky drink burned her throat on the way down. Normally she would never order something as strong as this.

"Forgive me, I am not acquainted with your situation," Anomen said gallantly. "Pray explain your meaning my lady?"

"_Lady _is it?" purred Safana. She ran a finger over his chest. "I'm no lady yet, but I am about to become one."

"I… I… I…" Anomen spluttered.

He had heard of this kind of thing, but only in the context of whispered jokes with the other squires. In real life he had never encountered an actual person in the process of becoming a lady. Safana was very beautiful, but he was not sure how he felt about it. It was not that this was necessarily a problem, more that he had never given the issue any thought before.

Jaheira guessed both their thoughts and corrected the misunderstanding.

"I believe what Safana means," she said tersely, "Is her and Coran's impending elevation to the aristocracy. Freya Silvershield was the wealthiest person in Baldur's Gate by a considerable margin. Some of her fortune was used up settling Duke Silvershield's debts and more to pay the Flaming Fist after the Dragonspear wars. Even so, she died a very substantial landowner."

"And Coran is her undisputed heir," Safana added smugly.

"Congratulations?" hazarded Anomen. For all his flaws, he was no money grubber. Such ambition reminded him of his father.

"Not yet," replied the thief. She led them to a corner table in the shadows and leaned in closer. It offered Anomen an advantageous view down her top, no doubt by design. For they were now talking serious business. "Her bankers have control of her estate and her money, and they're scared of her. They won't be releasing one single penny until they're absolutely certain she's dead! Just a rumour won't be enough. They certainly won't take _our _word for it."

"So you need concrete proof that she's gone," Jaheira sighed.

Safana nodded and waved her empty glass at the barmaid. The young woman hurried over looking flushed beneath her bonnet and placed the whole bottle down on the table.

"I'll leave that there for you ma'am," she curtseyed. "I'd best go check on poor, poor Coran. He looked so upset, the dear."

The thief rolled her eyes but said nothing, pouring out a generous glass first for herself and then topping up Anomen. As she moved to Jaheira's glass, the druid placed her palm over the top to stop her from filling it.

"I think that whore has ill-intent!" Anomen said in an urgent whisper. "Had you not best follow her?"

Safana laughed, a mirthless tinkling laugh.

"Oh, sweet boy, of course she does!" the thief smiled. "And no doubt Coran will bury his sorrow over Freya between her bony thighs. Don't look so shocked, Freya was just as shallow as he is. It's why they got on so well."

"And you don't mind?" Anomen asked, scandalized.

"I gave up minding a long time ago. He is what he is," she sighed. She eyed Anomen up and down thoughtfully. "It does have the not-inconsiderable advantage of leaving me free to do whatever I like."

Anomen swallowed.

"But, back to the matter at hand!" she declared, lacing her fingers together. "I need proof that Freya's dead so that we can claim the inheritance we're entitled to."

"Go to the devils!" snapped Jaheira. Safana's mercenary attempt to profit from the events that cost her Khalid was more than she could tolerate. She threw down a coin for her drink, and stormed off to book herself a room.

Anomen remained at the table with Safana. The thief smiled at him, her sultry eyes twinkling, and loosened her tunic a little. As she leaned forward to refill his glass again, he stared like a rabbit in the headlights, barely registering how much he was drinking.

"And what about you sweetheart?" she smiled. "Can you help me get what I need?"

"I…" Anomen panicked.

"It's hot in here isn't it?" Safana purred, slipping her hand over his. A combination of alcohol and inexperience were making his head spin. "You must be boiling in all that armour. Let's go to my private room, and we can continue our conversation. How does that sound?"

"Good?" replied Anomen, not quite able to believe what was happening. "Yes, my lady. I think that an excellent notion."


	29. Innocence Ends

The climb up the narrow staircase to Safana's room seemed to go on forever. A jumble of thoughts raced through Anomen's mind, though they would've been racing a lot faster if he'd drunk a bit less.

Chief amongst them was the concern that Coran might put in an appearance at any moment. Then there was the fact that it had been two solid days since he last took a bath. Or cleaned his teeth. The possibility that she might intend to rob him crossed his mind briefly. Then a twinge of regret that his first time was not about to be the culmination of romantic courtship that he had once hoped it might be.

Still, his entire life to date had been a relentless series of cockups. Why should this be any different?

Anomen followed her into her room and shut the door with a fresh determination. He was not so much eager to have sex as frantic to get it over with.

Safana's room was a mess of crimson velvet. She adored luxury but was not particularly good at maintaining it. The embroidered silk sheets were screwed up on the bed, and the chairs and carpet strewn with her discarded clothes. A pot of expensive face powder sat in a jewelled jar on the bedside table. She followed his gaze and picked it up idly.

"It's my favourite," she sighed. "Imported from Calisham. Fifty gold pieces a pot, and even then, it's hard to find a merchant selling it. The last time I got my hands on some of this, that oaf Freya accidentally trampled it into the carpet."

"I thought you two were friends," Anomen said vaguely, feeling that the evening was derailing. He certainly hadn't come up here to talk about Freya.

"We were but she turned out to be a bad friend," Safana drawled. "My mother had a saying. Never trust a man to do the right thing, but never trust a woman to do _anything_. It was never more true than of Coran and his bitch." She replaced the little pot sharply and turned her attention back to Anomen.

Her clever fingers began to unclasp his armour and he shrugged it off quickly. He placed it on the floor and hastily pulled off the shirt under it. His enthusiasm earned him an amused smile. "Not like _you. _I have a feeling you and I are going to be very good friends. Hmmm?"

"I hope so," he replied shakily. The Charisma Ring was in the pocket of his breeches. He slipped it on discretely and at once his manner grew more confident. Helpful as the little device was, it blared a warning siren into his mind: _Safana wants to discuss Freya._

He knew, as surely as the boots on his feet, that if he did not cooperate with her line of questioning he was going to get nowhere.

"You need proof that she is dead?" he asked, raising a cocky eyebrow. "Arowan saw her die. I could ask her to testify for you."

"That might do," sighed Safana. "The problem with Bhaalspawn is that they dust. There's no body, and in the end, I fear that is the only proof that would satisfy her lawyers. I don't suppose anyone thought to save any Freya-glitter?"

"I fear not my lady," replied Anomen.

Safana pushed him playfully down onto the bed and he kicked off his boots. The fire in the hearth had not been long lit. Both the air and the sheets were cold, but in an instant she was warming him, straddling his bare torso between her thighs.

"Are you sure? It isn't just about me," Safana purred. "I want the money, I'll admit, but there's more to it than that. The city of Baldur's Gate is on the brink of civil war. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of people will die. There's no chance of the political situation ever settling for as long as Freya's fate is in doubt."

"Alas, asking Arowan to testify is all we can do," Anomen said distractedly. She ran her hands over his taught chest, and he moaned. "Like… like you said… the Bhaalspawn leave no body."

Safana seemed to reluctantly accept this.

"My lady?" Anomen asked sharply, "You are not doing this simply to enlist my aid with securing Coran's inheritance are you? For if you are, I assure you that there is no need. Yours is a perfectly reasonable request and I stand ready to relay it to Arowan without the need for payment."

This was met with a sharp scratch across his chin. Though his beard shielded him from the full force of Safana's fingernails, the gesture came as a shock.

"_Payment?" _she echoed furiously. "Do you take me for some common whore?"

"No, no!" Anomen backtracked hastily. "I merely meant that…"

"Because I am no 'common' anything. You can comb the trollop houses from Athkatla to Baldur's Gate until you are wilted and grey, but I guarantee you, you will find nobody like me!"

"I have no difficulty believing that," he replied with the ghost of a grin.

He pulled her close, pressing his mouth against hers with a rough mixture of scraping beard and inexperience. Safana did not mind. Sex with Coran had grown into a slightly toxic blend of love and hate, which had been fun at first but was growing staler by the day. Whereas Anomen was something fresh to play with.

The younger man flipped her onto her back. There was excitement in his eyes and a genuine eagerness to please, despite his probable inability to do so. She pulled him into an open-mouthed kiss, savouring the taste of wine upon his breath.

It was as if someone had lit a fire inside the cleric. Every muscle in his body tensed at once, as he hastily and clumsily removed what remained of their clothes. Anomen kissed over her cheek and down her neck, his breathing coming out heavier. He paused to look at the woman beneath him. He had never seen a naked woman before. Squires' doodles of what they imagined them to look like had often been passed around the Order dorms, but they were no substitute for the real thing.

Safana smiled at him calculatingly. Her mind strayed to Coran, off in the wilderness somewhere with his wretched barmaid. The latest in his endless parade of partners. She hadn't even caught this one's name, but in fairness Coran probably didn't know it either. Paunchy chin and superficial charm! How he was able to lure so many people into his bed was beyond her. Were it not for his impending inheritance, she would have called time with the elf months ago. As it was, she had to go to wilder and wilder extremes to keep her fellow thief on the hook, while she herself grew ever more bored.

She buried her face into Anomen's hair, enjoying the smell of sweat and mud. Adventurer smell. It was good, as long as it was not allowed to grow _too _overpowering. She recalled Dorn Il-Khan and wrinkled her nose. Yes, one could certainly have too much of a good thing.

"Is everything alright?" Anomen asked nervously. He was aware that he had not had a chance to wash yet. His plan had been to bathe when they first arrived, but Coran had accosted them first.

"Mmm hmm," smiled Safana, pinching his chest lightly and making him shiver. She ran her tongue over the curve of his jaw, which he discovered he liked, then moved to his ear lobe which he didn't. There was something singularly unpleasant about a moist, wet tongue slurping about the creases of his ear. He screwed his eyes closed and tried to tolerate it to humour her, but when it felt like she was in danger of actually licking _inside _his ear he decided enough was enough.

With one arm he pulled her against him, enjoying the feeling of her breasts pressed to his chest. Meanwhile he ran the other hand down her inner thigh. She moaned against him and he pushed her legs apart.

This was the bit he had been rather nervous about, for his understanding of female anatomy was limited. There was supposed to be a hole down there somewhere. He pushed his length against her, wishing that he could pause this scenario for a few minutes so that he could go down there with a torch and a magnifying glass. Just to get his bearings.

He pressed against her again, gasping with pleasure at the contact, but still missing his mark. Then a third time and a fourth. This was the nightmare scenario. Anxiety gripped him, but Safana smiled.

"Where did you train, cleric?" she asked him breathlessly.

"Train?" he asked, bemused. "I've not been trained, this is the first time I've… er…"

He had not meant to tell her that, but his nerves got the better of him and it slipped out. Safana laughed unkindly. Poor Anomen turned scarlet and scrambled off her. It was too early to call this the _worst _night of his life. There was some pretty stiff competition for that title. Yet if the evening continued in this vein, it was on track to make the top three.

"I meant where did you train to be a cleric?" she snickered. "I was going to hazard a guess that they didn't let you get out much. Judging from your answer I suppose I was correct, hmmm?"

She sat up, letting the sheets slide down to reveal her top half. Her glossy brown hair cascaded over her shoulders and her eyes danced with amusement. Anomen wished for death.

"The Order of the Radiant Heart," he muttered. "And no. They didn't."

"Oooh, you're a knight?" Safana teased him.

"No," he replied bitterly. "I failed my test."

The thief licked her thin lips thoughtfully, deciding whether it would be more fun to make this miserable man the happiest he had ever been… or to destroy him utterly.

It was fortunate for Anomen's mental health that the news of Freya's demise had put Safana into a benevolent mood. And after all, proper ladies (as she would soon become) were expected to be charitable.

"You're a rogue then?" she enquired, placing both hands onto his toned chest and shoving him roughly back onto the bed. "Good. Bad boys are always more fun. Close your eyes now. Go on. Trust me."

Feeling as though he had nothing to lose, Anomen obeyed. She began to stroke his arms and kiss her way down his torso. His breath came out in juddering gasps and he had to fight to keep himself from shaking. Though his fingers curled in the sheets, he forced himself to keep his eyes closed. As she got lower something, her hair or her breast, brushed over his shaft. A shockwave of pleasure tore through him and he moaned.

His moans soon turned to a mixture of groaning and semi-coherent begging. She straddled his right thigh, propping herself up with one arm and holding the base of his cock in the other. With her thumb she traced little circles just above his balls and dipping her head, took the rest of him into her mouth.

What followed drove every thought and worry from the cleric's mind. Her lips brushed up and down his length, only every so often she would pause. Sometimes with him fully inside her to lick patterns up his length with her tongue. Other times she stopped at the tip to swirl his head about her mouth. It seemed to last forever, and it was by far the best he had ever felt. Yet at the same time being a passive participant was unbearable.

"S- Safana…" he panted. "You're amazing…"

"I know," she preened, releasing him from her mouth to talk long enough for him to flip them both over. He was on top again and this time he was sure that if he couldn't find release, he'd lose his mind.

Safana nibbled his collar bone teasingly, and guided him in. The thief gasped to humour him, but though she enjoyed the fullness her world was not blown away. She'd had better lovers. Still it was important to keep her head count up. Hell would freeze before she would let Coran win. Anomen's sigh was more genuine. She was warm and it felt pretty good. More important was that it was done and over with. With this one act he was no longer a virgin; a status which had felt like a lead weight hanging about his throat.

He slipped out after a few thrusts, but it was easier to find his way back in second time around. Though nerves stopped him from truly enjoying himself, she at least was acting like she was having a good time. When she whispered in his ear how incredible he was, he chose to believe her. Pleasure mounted between his legs, until finally he came.

The world did not move, but it did seem a little less daunting than it had before.

Anomen sighed and rolled off her, flat on his back and breathing heavily. Within minutes he was asleep, emotionally and physically drained.

Safana rolled her eyes and poured herself another glass of wine. She carried it over to the window and opened it, letting the cool night air lift the sweat from her body. The red velvet curtain brushed against her skin and she smiled a thin-lipped smile. The curtains in her mansion would be blue.

It was on a night like this that she had first met Freya and Coran. What a pair of dumb puppies! How that dopey duo, with the combined common sense of a lemming, had survived so long without her was one of life's enduring mysteries. She had partnered with them to get past some sirenes which were guarding treasure she'd been hunting. Her idea had been that the elf man would be charmed. Then she and the thumping great werewolf would retrieve the stash while they were distracted. Only, it turned out that Freya was much more susceptible to the sirenes than Coran. The poor confused creatures had not known what to make of her and let them all pass. Safana smiled at the memory and shook her head.

"Don't think I'll ever cry over you, bitch," she whispered at the moon. "You crossed too many lines."

* * *

* * *

Coran woke with a groan and sat up rubbing his temples. Beside him his latest fling was sleeping soundly in the stable hay. Dawn's first rays crept in through gaps in the thatch. Quietly, he gathered his clothes together and crept outside.

Spending the night with an affectionate woman was normally like his healing potions. In his experience there was not a problem in the world which could not be lightened by bringing a new friend to bed. Until now.

He dressed and stumbled back to the inn in a hollow trance. Dead. He climbed the stairs slowly to his room. Freya was dead. Coran had never believed it would come to this. Not _really. _People had come and gone in his life, but meeting Freya and Safana had been like finding pieces of himself he hadn't known were missing. The three of them were _meant _to be together.

Sure, the Bitch of Baldur's Gate had exiled them, but only because that snake Skie had made her. She would have come back to them, he knew it in his heart. All this time he had been searching the Sword Coast for her, certain that she would be trying to find him too. Darkness had begun to fester in his mind as time dragged on with no hint of her, but he'd pushed it into the recesses of his soul.

"Dead," he whispered. He drifted dully into his room and flopped down across the foot of the bed, barely noticing that Anomen was occupying it. "She's dead Saffy."

"It will be alright sweetie," Safana sighed, sitting up. Anomen was sitting up too, gathering the bedsheets about him and looking extremely uncomfortable. "We'll claim her inheritance and drink it in her name. We'll fuck half of Baldur's Gate in her memory. It's what she would have wanted."

Coran gave her a watery smile. Thank the gods he still had Safana. He'd never make the mistake of being apart again. A dog-shaped hole now existed in his heart. Losing the thief as well would never happen. He silently swore that he would die first.

"Which half?" he asked weakly.

"The half you haven't fucked already," she whispered, kissing the end of his nose.

"Er…" Anomen ventured from the bed. He swung his legs over the side, and hastily pulled on his own abandoned clothes. Safana was still stroking the shoulders of the despondent elf.

Though it was obvious that Coran's misery had nothing to do with him (the thief had barely acknowledged his presence) Anomen felt guilty about sleeping with his girlfriend. To his eyes, theirs was a bizarre, surreal and frankly unhealthy relationship.

"I er… I'm sorry about what happened to your friend," Anomen said, wondering whether this could really be happening or if it was all just a very odd dream. What if he had never left the wild forest and all of this was a mushroom-induced hallucination? "Her grave is just outside of town if you erm… if you want to say goodbye?"

Safana dropped Coran's shoulders suddenly and he crashed against the mattress.

"There's a grave?" she echoed, sharply.

"Well, sort of. More an upturned mace and a tankard," Anomen said sleepily. "It's in the woods left of the road, about twenty minutes North from the main gate, if you and Coran want to pay your respects."

"Pay our respects?" Safana scoffed. "Why is my bed such a magnet for idiots? If there is a grave then presumably you had something to put in it? Coran, this is what we need!"

Coran sat bolt upright, horrified. Safana meant to dig up whatever was left of Freya and take it back to Baldur's Gate. Anomen was scarcely happier with the direction this conversation had taken. Though he had not known the woman himself, the idea of bringing that vile coat back to the surface made him sick. What's more if Viconia, Rasaad or indeed the cult of Selune ever got wind that he'd had a hand in it…

"You cannot be serious?" Coran wailed. "You want to dig up Freya's corpse? No! I… I won't let you!"

"It won't _be _her corpse," Safana explained patiently. "She can't leave a body. It will be a… what? What exactly did you bury, Anomen?"

The young cleric did not want to answer. Not with Coran already blindsided by grief. Yet he had no choice. It was obvious that Safana had every intention of digging up the grave with or without their permission. Which meant that someone was going to have to tell him how Freya died.

"It seems that there was a… a fur coat," Anomen said stiffly and reluctantly. Coran's eyes widened like two green islands in his face. "A golden coat. I never got a proper look at it myself, Arowan and Yoshimo buried it, but apparently it was unmistakable."

It would be. Freya had one of the most artificially inflated charismas that had ever existed. This applied even when transformed. Her golden coat was special and uniquely beautiful. It had been seen by hundreds of people in Baldur's Gate during her lifetime and could not be mistaken for the pelt of any other creature.

This was the incontestable proof of death that Safana needed, and yet she was not delighted. She sat down slowly, turning green and this time her response was not feigned. Anomen watched her eyes darting side to side as she deduced how Freya must have died, and it was too much even for her.

"_Praise Helm that I did not take a complete monster into my bed," _he thought ruefully.

Coran rose unsteadily to his feet. He placed one palm flat on the bedside table, steadying himself. Though his eyes were dry for the moment, he was bent over double and seemed to be having difficulty pulling himself upright.

"Take me to the grave," he said his voice barely a whisper. "And while we walk, I need you to tell me how this could happen. All of it this time."

At Anomen's insistence they collected Jaheira and the four of them headed into the wood toward the spot where Freya's fur was supposed to be buried. As they walked Jaheira explained how they had been captured by Irenicus and taken to his dungeon, but that the mage had failed to subdue the Hero of Baldur's Gate. Torture, starvation, threatening her friends, nothing had worked. She had been too strong for the mage to get anywhere near her, and he'd been forced to keep her caged.

She told her about the things in the complex. The captive dryads, the tanks and the clones of Irenicus's mistress that they had encountered. At this, Coran turned and gripped the bark of a nearby tree. He was shaking but at the same time fighting to keep some sort of composure.

"Did he do something to Freya and Arowan that you're not telling me?" he asked. His eyes locked with Jaheira's, burning with pain. "Jaheira, I have to know."

"No," said the druid firmly, and Coran let out a shuddering sigh. "Imoen, possibly, but the Bhaalspawn no. Getting anywhere near Freya was physically impossible. Even if he had managed to disarm her, she was still a werewolf. As for Arowan there would have been no point, but I will get to that later."

When describing Freya's death, she gave Coran the minimum bare facts. The only parts of a Bhaalspawn to dust were those still attached at the moment of death, and she had been skinned alive. Therefore, there was a pelt. Khalid had put the poor creature out of her misery, and in revenge for her death, Imoen had killed Khalid. Tears rolled down the elf's face and he made no attempt to stem the flow.

"Khalid was a good man," Coran said at length. "He must have known what Irenicus would want to do to him for depriving him of Freya. My friend suffered a terrible fate, but your husband spared her a far worse one. I cannot tell you how sorry I am that he is dead."

To her surprise, the druid took some comfort from his words. She held the elf's shaking hand in her own.

"Freya was…" she began. She could not end that sentence with 'a good person' for that would be too blatant a lie. "She meant a lot to a lot of people."

"Even she didn't deserve to be flayed alive," chimed in Safana, who was being rather quiet. "So Irenicus turned her into a coat and you stole it from the compound?"

"No," replied Jaheira, and reluctantly she explained what had happened next. How Arowan had been brought to the compound on numbing potions. Coran, who harboured a fondness for the ranger, buried his head into his hands. She described her rehabilitation with the Order, their accidental run in with Rejiek Hidesman and how the tanner met his end in Trademeet.

As they grew nearer, they heard a rhythmic chinking noise and some poor but energetic singing. The lyrics were very rude indeed.

When they reached the grave there was a surprise waiting for them, for Viconia's upturned mace had been replaced by an elaborate stone monument. The grave itself remained untouched, apart from the combined symbol of Shar and Selune that the drow had traced into the dirt. That had been very pointedly scuffed out. Above it had been placed a huge slab of marble. A red-headed dwarf was working industriously with a pick and hammer, carving Freya's cocky grinning face into the stone. She looked around and brightened at the sight of Anomen.

"Hello again, handsome!" she said, waggling her flaming eyebrows. "Do you like your statue as much as I liked carving it?"

"It's very nice," replied Anomen awkwardly. Bearded and burly was not his type.

"Them Sun Soul monks liked it too!" Margoff grinned proudly. "Commissioned me to make this as soon as they saw it. The Hero of Baldur's Gate!"

"Do you mean the two Sun Soul monks who were looking for Rasaad?" Anomen asked. "They commissioned this? Why?"

"Why?" laughed Margoff. "Freya Silvershield, the Bitch of Baldur's Gate? Only the best known Selunite on the continent, wasn't she?"

This gave them pause. _Technically _that was true but…

"She was hardly a shining example of the Selunite philosophy," Jaheira observed archly.

"She were a drunken whoremonger from what I've heard," the dwarf replied, ruffling her red beard and nodding approvingly. "But they don't give a damn about that now she's dead. She won them a lot of new converts and gods know the Selunites need them. They're being hunted up and down the Sword Coast. Someone is picking their Order off like flies."

"Won them converts? Rubbish! I was Freya's best friend and I never saw her try to convert anyone in her life!" said Coran, who was not in the mood for this.

"In life perhaps not. But in death?" Margoff countered, sobering her tone. Then she tapped the side of her large nose. "Power of celebrity ain't it? Won them over a lot of new followers she did. This site is special to them. I reckon our statue is only the start. That strapping, juicy bull of a monk was talking about founding a temple here when they left."

"They are gone then?" Safana asked quickly.

"For now. Off looking for that Rasaad fellow," Margoff replied. A dreamy expression swept over her face. "Now Rasaad is a Selunite I'd really like to sculpt. He was even bigger than the other monk. Gorgeous chunk of man meat. Blimey I'd like to..."

"Not wanting to disturb your poetic description nor the completion of this stunning masterpiece," Safana said sweetly, "But might we have a moment alone to grieve? We were, as my dear Coran pointed out, Freya's best friends." Margoff looked doubtful until Safana pulled out a large, glittering sapphire from her gem bag. "We will see you handsomely compensated for your lost time."

Margoff took the gem eagerly, as Coran sank to his knees in the settling dirt where Freya was supposedly interred.

"I reckon I'll make copies of this statue," she babbled, twirling her ruby moustache, "See if I can't drum up some commissions in Baldur's Gate itself. I don't normally like to sculpt the ladies but Freya's where the money's at, eh?"

"Indeed," agreed Safana. Her eyes were starting to glitter dangerously again. "She certainly is."

* * *

* * *

Anomen and Jaheira continued their journey toward Umar, leaving the thieves at the graveside. The druid noticed a marked change in her companion. He seemed soberer, more mature and generally less desperate. It was a welcome change and when the mayor of the town greeted them with a long list of worries, she was glad of his company to set out and investigate.

"With any luck we'll have sorted it out ourselves by the time the others get here," she said, striding out confidently with her oaken staff. Before them spread out the forested hills of Umar. She surveyed them with satisfaction.

"Doubtless between the two of us we can set the place to rights," nodded Anomen piously. "Let us proceed then."

* * *

* * *

Back in Trademeet, Safana waited until everyone had been gone for a while, before leaving Coran sobbing at the graveside. She returned an hour or so later with two courtesans armed with spades and a burlap sack. As the shovels hit the earth with a crunch, Coran became hysterical.

"You've lost Freya, would you lose her fortune as well?" Safana snapped. "Stop bleating like a little lost piglet. You'll bring half this fetid town down on us."

"I don't want to see it," Coran sobbed. "I don't want to see."

"We'll put it straight into this bag and take it to Baldur's Gate," Safana assured him. "You won't have to look at it or touch it or anything, I promise. Once it's all sorted out we'll bury her again, properly this time. In Baldur's Gate, where she belongs."

They dug and dug. It was hot, sweaty work but the grave was not that old and the soil still quite loose. Yet they found nothing for, of course, there was nothing to find. Safana had to pay her courtesans double to keep digging, and the hole ended up three times as wide and twice as deep as the original grave. Still nothing. Then they hit a layer of granite and it was clear that they could go no further.

"Empty!" Safana panted in rage and disappointment. "The grave is fucking empty!"

"We still expect to be paid," sniffed one of the courtesans, clambering out and adjusting her muddied skirt.

"Fill it in and take your gold," snapped Safana. "And just remember what I said those Sun Soul monks will do to you if you breathe a word about any of this."

"Discretion is our watchword," the courtesan simpered.

"Syphilis is your watchword," muttered Safana, as they sashayed away.

"What does this mean?" Coran asked. "Could Freya still be alive?"

"No," murmured Safana darkly. "Unless you think Jaheira was lying to you? No… it means one of two things. Either someone dug her up, which seems unlikely with Margoff and those moon monks hanging around or…"

"Or what?" asked Coran weakly.

"Or that little minx Arowan never buried the fur coat in the first place," she said. Coran curled up, sobbing at the base of the grave. He wished he could roll into it himself and block everything out with cold earth.

"Why?" he wailed. "Why would she do this?"

"I don't know, but I intend to find out," Safana said with a steely glint in her eye. "Get up Coran. We need to track her down. If we find her, we find the coat."

"Can't we just let it go?" whimpered Coran.

Safana thought about Freya's fortune, especially the horde of dragon treasure that she had won on the way to Dragonspear. It had been Coran who had fired the killing shot into that greedy reptile's throat. He had slain the creature. He had a right to that treasure! He had helped the werewolf win it _and _he was her heir. She'd rather die than let it go!

Yet she had never seen Coran like this. There was no trace of the happy-go-lucky elf she knew so well. This man was pale and shaking and had been pushed as far as he could go without snapping. She had no claim on Freya's estate without him.

"Alright we'll let it go," she lied soothingly. "Let's get away from this place."

"Can… can we go to Tethir?" Coran asked, as though he needed her permission. "I haven't been home in years and I know you don't like forests but…"

"Of course we can," Safana crooned gently, gripping him ever so slightly too hard. "Come on now. Everything will be alright. I will take care of you."


	30. The Hidden Refuge

Jaheira had seen the twisted wild forest as a repellent abomination, but her adopted daughter was growing quite fond of it. With the exception of the mushrooms, to which she was giving a very wide berth. They followed a windy mud track through dense fir trees to a round wooden palisade in a clearing. Flammable timber was not the best material with which to build a wild mage encampment, but perhaps it was all they had. Some of the wooden beams were charred black and the wall had been patched in several places.

Yoshimo stole a sideways look at Arowan. She was eyeing the nearest tree wistfully, wondering if there might be time to climb it later. He smiled fondly at her then looked at his feet.

"Hey, hey, Hayes!" Neera hollered. An invisibility spell lifted before their eyes to reveal a bad-tempered man in purple robes drumming his fingers together. His face had a pinched, pointy quality which reminded some of the party of Duke Silvershield. He glared at Neera, who wiped a small tear of mirth from her eye. "Oh gods, that never gets old does it?"

Hayes' face contorted in irritation. Neera pulled him into an unreciprocated hug. He scowled suspiciously at their party.

"I thought you were just bringing Minsc and his friends," he said accusingly. "Why these people as well?"

Neera introduced Arowan, Yoshimo, Rasaad and Viconia. The rat's eyes narrowed and she tilted her head to one side. Then, very slowly, she crept along Rasaad's muscular arm toward Hayes. The monk winced where her tiny claws pricked his skin, but she stretched her pointy nose toward the wild mage, sniffing carefully. Hayes recoiled.

"Viconia's not normally a rodent," Neera pointed out cheerfully.

"I beg to differ," Hayes muttered under his breath.

"Stop giving them dirty looks Hayes," sighed Neera. "You have no need to be suspicious. They're a good sort. How is everyone settling in?"

"We are tired," Hayes replied sharply, "Very tired. Me especially. Best that you give me a wide berth."

"Aww, that's too bad!" cried Neera. "But why are you so fatigued Hayes? We finished setting this place up weeks ago. Nothing to do now but kick back, relax and wait for the Red Wizards to come and harvest our brains."

"I do not have time to answer your inane questions!" Hayes snapped defensively. "Leave me in peace woman!"

"Is something the matter Hayes?" asked Neera, her eyes full of concern.

"Are you scapegraces deaf as well as stupid?" asked Hayes, suddenly aggressive. "I told you to leave me alone!"

"Alright, alright! Sheesh!" Neera said, edging around Hayes. She whispered to the others as they slipped past him and through the gate; "Sorry about that. You get a lot of random when you're dealing with wild mages. Personality and spells can go a bit haywire."

Hayes' wife came out to greet them, an apologetic but stilted woman named Telana.

"He's been like this ever since we returned from Athkatla," she whispered fretfully. "It didn't go well. The wild mage we were trying to recruit didn't believe us about the Red Wizards and refused point blank to come. Hayes went back alone to try and persuade him one last time. I don't know what was said, but he refused to speak to me all the way home and has done nothing but be rude to everyone since. I've never seen him like this."

Not everyone welcomed them in such a chilly manner as Hayes.

"Aha! Finally you came!" Minsc's unmistakable, friendly voice boomed across the camp. He strode over to them, followed by Aerie and Hexxat. Elf and vampire were keeping further apart from each other than seemed natural.

"Finally," the vampire said sourly. "Let's sort out this mess and get back to civilization. I'm starving."

"Don't… don't you think about eating anyone here!" Aerie said tremulously. "I'm watching you vampire!"

"I would not dare to taste any of this lot," Hexxat replied coldly. "One drop of their blood would leave me hallucinating for a week."

She looked at Arowan with deep dark pools of eyes, and the ranger took a step back. Hexxat might be able to walk about in daylight like a human, but she had never seen her eat like one. Something about the way she was watching her neck made her want to invest in a very thick scarf. Aerie already had one. It smelled strongly of garlic.

"How can we help?" Arowan asked.

"The sneaky Red Wizards of Thay will not leave these nice wild mages in peace," Minsc said. "So we must take the fight to them. As you know we have been searching for Edwin, so that Minsc may crack his skull like an egg and serve Dynaheir an omelette of justice!"

"You have discovered his hideout?" asked Yoshimo curiously, ignoring the strange but graphic metaphor.

"Not exactly," admitted Minsc, "But our search did lead us to an enclave of other Red Wizards. Now we shall put a stop to their evil machinations. Our party, yours and the wild mages should be plenty enough to boot them from Athkatla. But wait! Where is friend Jaheira? Where are Anomen and Viconia?"

"Forgive us, Jaheira and Anomen have gone on to the Umar Hills," Rasaad replied in a low voice. "As for Viconia…"

He reached into his shirt and pulled out the plump, silvery Viconia rat. She wriggled free of his fist and clambered onto his shoulder like a parrot, glaring at them all as though daring them to laugh at her. Her long wormy tail curled about Rasaad's neck. Minsc's face broke into another warm smile.

"Wonderful! Boo, look! A new friend for you!" he exclaimed, holding Boo out to Viconia.

The rodents sniffed one another instinctively. Then both turned their backs on the other with indignant squeaks, each scurrying back to the safety of their own bald human.

"Ah, I forgot. Boo is not liking rats," Minsc said sorrowfully. "He is not liking Hayes much either, he bit him on the finger yesterday. 'Boo,' I say, 'You must try to be more tolerant!' But when a hamster's mind is made up, what can you do?"

"These are as many adventurers as are coming then?" asked Telana, looking worried. "I hope we have enough. "We'll make for Athkatla in the morning. Do explore the camp. Get to know everybody."

They took her up on her invitation, though the wild mages were a peculiar bunch. There was a bearded gnome surrounded by feral cats whom he was feeding with greasy chunks of offal. A pair of children were chasing each other around a halfling, watched by their worried mother. He tried to shoo them away from a complex contraption of gears and leavers that he was working on. It looked extremely dangerous. In one corner a morose half-orc stood muttering to himself. Another mad gnome calling himself 'King Gramm' took a shine to Rasaad and offered to knight him into his court.

One of the oddest characters, however, was already known to two of the party. They found him near the back of the encampment, hidden behind a mismatched assortment of tents and caravans. He was taking deep drags from a long pipe and smiling lazily at the clouds drifting above him.

"I could swear I recognize that man," Arowan whispered to Yoshimo. "The one blowing smoke rings and staring into the trees."

"You do?" Yoshimo blinked in surprise. "I didn't know that you partake. In that case…" Without waiting for her to answer, he strode over to the smoking mage, who was shirtless but had painted himself in luminous colours. "Zaviak, a most unexpected pleasure. What can you rustle up for me and my lovely friend on this fine day?"

"Yoshimo!" the wild mage said vaguely. "Small world man, small world. Not seen you since Baldur's Gate. You look better man. Told you those herbs would mellow you out."

Arowan looked from Yoshimo to Zaviak and back again. Her expression was altogether less friendly, for she too knew the wild mage, though she had not realised that he was such at the time. Presumably nobody else had known either or he would never have been let in to Candlekeep. Given how prone these people seemed to random fire surges, nobody in their right mind would let them near so many precious books.

"Zaviak," she said frostily.

Slowly, Zaviak lowered the pipe from his mouth. He had a dreamy far-away smile playing over his lips and his eyes focussed about two inches from the back of her head. His hair fell in long, lank curtains almost covering his face, though his nose protruded out like a periscope.

"Hey man."

"Who are you calling man? I'm a woman," Arowan snapped.

She knew she was being pedantic but Zaviak had a reputation at Candlekeep and she had been forbidden to speak with him. Rumours as to the reason had been vague, but it had to do with practising 'inappropriate magic on the dead.' That accusation could mean many things, but none of them were hygienic.

"Yeah, I see that," Zaviak drawled. "I haven't seen you since Candlekeep. How are the rest of you?"

"The rest of us?" the ranger asked suspiciously.

"Yeah man… woman… dude. The rest of you. Afoxe and the others."

She blinked. Candlekeep had been home to twelve Bhaalspawn of whom she was the last survivor. 'Rescued' by Gorion so that he could use pieces of their souls to create Imoen, they had lived alongside one another unaware of each other's presence. Gorion's memory charms had fooled everyone, including the Bhaalspawn themselves, into believing that they were all one person. As far as she knew she, Eric and Freya were the only three of the twelve to learn of the existence of the others, and only then long after Gorion's death.

"You… you knew there were more than one of us?" Arowan asked dumbfounded. "How? I didn't even know that! Gorion cast a spell to make us believe that we were all one person!"

"Huh. So that's what that was about. Guess my special cookies broke through the charm," Zaviak pondered. Already his eyes had slipped off them and were drifting to the treetops. "Do you see the trees?"

"Of course I see the trees!" she cried, exasperated.

"Yeah, but do you _see _them?" he pressed.

"Zaviak," Arowan asked assertively, trying to bring him back to the original topic. "How well did you know the others?"

"Only by sight mostly," he replied. "Except for Afoxe. He was chill. Not just a customer man… like… a friend you know? Where's he at these days?"

This did not quite stack with the mental image Arowan had formed of the paladin. He was a hero who'd died at Sarevok's hands barely a day's walk from Candlekeep. Then again, she had never really known him, or any of them, except for Eric and Freya. She'd only seen them fight in her dreams then die.

"I'm sorry Zaviak," she said gently, "But they're dead. All of them. Including Afoxe. If it's any comfort it was quick, he didn't suffer."

"Bummer," Zaviak's face fell. "He was sound, man."

Whatever was in Zaviak's pipe (Arowan did not recognize the smell but it certainly wasn't tobacco) he soon forgot what they'd been talking about, and started asking if they'd seen a bear called 'Wilson.' They promised to keep an eye out for him to humour the mage.

"Thanks. That's real prodigious of you," the mage grinned dozily. "I miss Wilson. Best bear in the world. That guy had heart, you know?"

"Bring it in, friend," Yoshimo said, unexpectedly. He hugged the wild mage like a brother, but Arowan noticed that when he pulled away he had a fat pouch of leaves clutched in his hand. He tucked it discretely into his tunic and when Arowan asked him what it was he muttered repressively; "later!"

"On the house dude. We really appreciate what you're doing with, like, the spooky Red Wizards," he said, shuddering. "Those guys are epically not cool."

As they walked away, Rasaad meandered over to Yoshimo, curious as to what the wild mage had given him.

"Just a few herbs," Yoshimo replied evasively. "For medicinal purposes, yes?"

"I would be wary of these 'herbs' my friend," Rasaad cautioned. "Sincere though his friendship appears, I suspect that the content of his pipe may have been clouding the clarity of his thoughts."

Yoshimo was spared having to answer by the sight of Hayes disappearing into one of the caravans and looking shifty. They followed him but could hear nothing through the door. The thief scaled up the side and peered in through a gap in the curtains.

"Our friend has a crystal ball," the thief whispered landing in a crouching position at their feet. "He is speaking to someone in it but I cannot make out the words."

"Perhaps we should have a chat with this Hayes," Rasaad said, his mouth tightening. They mounted the caravan steps and piled in without knocking. When Hayes saw them, he hastily covered the crystal with what they assumed must be his spare robes. They were a deep crimson.

"Begone simians, I am busy!" Hayes snapped.

"Busy doing what, burning down an incense store?" Arowan choked, for the air in Hayes' caravan was heavily over perfumed. In this tiny space the smell was almost overpowering. There was something very familiar about his scent though she struggled to place it.

Viconia, on the other hand, had no trouble recognizing it for she was much more familiar with this particular smell. She began jumping up and down on Rasaad's arm, squeaking urgently.

"Viconia? What is the matter?" Rasaad asked concerned. He stroked the top of her silver head with one finger, a gesture of familiarity that he certainly would not have attempted had she been in human form.

"Squeak!" she stared frantically at Hayes and his crystal ball, imploring the monk to understand. "Squeaky, squeak, squeak, SQUEAK!"

"What is this?" Hayes demanded, flicking his greasy hair. "Not only do you disturb me with your boarish presence, but you bring a filthy rat into our midst. Luckily for us all I count pest control amongst my many talents."

Without warning, he threw a bolt of lightning at Viconia, who flung herself to the ground just in time. She scampered frantically to gather herself to all fours and flee the tent. A second lightning bolt scorched the ground where she had been moments before.

"STOP!" Rasaad cried. "Viconia! VICONIA?"

He raced from the tent just in time to see the silvery little creature fleeing into the wild forest. She was pursued not only by another crackle of electricity from Hayes but by a number of the camp's feral cats, who dropped their offal in favour of this better offering. Rasaad pelted after her, leaving Hayes to grumble under his breath.

"Need to hurry now, yes, we do not have much time," Hayes muttered to himself, glaring after Viconia. He was plucking at his purple robes, as though something about them irritated him.

"Is there a problem with your clothes?" Arowan asked, pleasantly. She was warming to the unpleasant wizard, having frequently felt the urge to attack Viconia herself. "If you have lice, my mother taught me a recipe for-"

"I know perfectly well how to cure kobold lice myself! There are no lice this time, these robes are just not my colour," Hayes replied crossly. Then his head snapped up and he thundered at her, "Now GO AWAY!"

"He's as crazy as the rest of them," observed Yoshimo.

"SILENCE you blithering imbeciles. Take your verbal incontinence somewhere else!" Hayes snapped. "Go on, scram!"

There was no point hanging around with the irate wild mage. In fact, thief and ranger were starting to wonder whether there was any sense in staying at all.

"They're all lunatics," whispered Yoshimo. He was leading them out of the palisade. "Neera and Telana are the only ones who can string a coherent sentence, and even they're a bit strange."

"I think they're making a mistake," agreed Arowan. "Attacking a Red Wizard stronghold with this lot? They're just as likely to have a wild surge and blow us up as the Thayans." Then she looked guilty. "But they are being hunted, Yoshimo. They need help."

"They _definitely _need help," the thief nodded vehemently. "I just don't think we're qualified to provide it."

Arowan looked back at the Hidden Refuge with its mentally addled denizens. By these people's standards Minsc looked like a stable and responsible leader. Perhaps with him and Hexxat they might be able to set the Red Wizards' operations back for a while. Yet her own feeling was that for their own safety (and everybody else's) it would be better for them to hide here in their little warped paradise than take their wild magic to the busy streets of Athkatla.

"One problem at a time," she sighed. "We'd better find Viconia before she gets eaten by one of those feral cats. That'd be an ignoble end to the Servant of all Faiths prophecies."

They combed the nearby woods, but as the hours drew on and they found nothing they were not overly concerned. After all, the gods had demonstrated that they would not allow Viconia to die. Frankly if a feral cat got hold of the rat-drow and tormented her for a while, as far as Arowan was concerned she had it coming. So long as Rasaad did not eat any of those mushrooms. She'd dealt with enough dysentery for one lifetime in Baldur's Gate, without holding the bucket for her former flame.

Pine needles had filled their boots by the time they heard the monk's calls answering their own. He had followed Viconia to a nearby river, where she had scurried into a pile of damp rocks to hide. One of the cats had squeezed in after her and there he had lost her. He looked tired and strained with worry. They noticed that several very large rocks had been overturned in his search for her. More of the cats were stalking over them, watching the party with malevolent eyes.

"You're a ranger! Can't you track her?" Rasaad howled.

"You want me to track a rat. One rat. In a _forest_?" Arowan sneered.

Yet she did try. They searched long into the evening until the light began to fail and there was no sense carrying on. Rasaad would not turn in until the drow was found but the other two unfurled their bedrolls for the night. They did not bother to return to the camp, for both agreed that they would sleep better minus the ever-present threat of random colour sprays and fireballs.

"Arowan?" Yoshimo whispered softly, "If you're ready, there's something I'd like to do with you tonight."

Arowan's heart began to thump. She had not been expecting this at all. Yoshimo, though affectionate, seemed to have felt no need to rush the physical side of their relationship. Neither had she. The past year had put them both through an emotional meat grinder, and she was not at all sure that she was ready.

Worse, if they did it right here and now, there was a strong possibility that Rasaad would stumble upon them in his search for the Viconia rat. That scenario didn't bear thinking about.

"What, right now?" she asked, hesitantly.

"I see no reason to wait," the thief said. "What better time than when Jaheira is away?"

"What business is it of Jaheira's?" Arowan asked, mildly affronted. "I'm a grown woman, I can make my own decisions."

"You can hardly believe that she'd approve," Yoshimo replied, raising his eyebrows. "She would try to stop us, I am sure."

"I doubt she would go that far," Arowan replied.

After her initial shock wore off, she was starting to warm to the idea. The moon rising above the towering fir trees was a very romantic setting and the scent of pine all around them made her feel at home. It was not quite cold in her sleeping bag, but cool enough that she'd welcome the warm press of his body against hers. He smiled at her with his dark, twinkling eyes, and she felt a sudden urge to see what he looked like with his hair down. She smiled back shyly.

"Yeah, ok," she agreed.

"Great!" beamed Yoshimo eagerly, and at once pulled out the pouch of leaves that Zaviak had given to him along with a thin wooden pipe she hadn't known he had. "Would you care to do the honours?"

He held out his pipe and herbs to her expectantly. Arowan blinked at it as her brain caught up with the situation. By now she was so onboard with making love, that she found herself disappointed.

"Oh," she replied dumbly.

"I have papers if you'd prefer to roll-up," Yoshimo assured her. "But I'm fond of a pipe. Something about the shape of the bowl you know? They're tactile objects."

Arowan took the pipe and fingered the smooth wood.

"I've not used a pipe to light up before," she told him truthfully, omitting the fact that she'd never smoked herbs _period. _"Show me."

Yoshimo grinned and took a generous pinch of Zaviak's leaves, rubbing them between his thumb and forefinger into a dry scratchy ball, which he poked into the bowl of the pipe. Then he lit it with a tinder box. The herbs did not flame but smouldered slowly. He placed the end of the pipe between his lips and sucked a few light breaths of air through it to get it going. Then he handed it to Arowan.

She breathed in, letting the smoke fill her mouth, then puffed back out trying not to cough. It was what she thought she had seen others do when smoking outside of taverns, only she did not take the pipe out of her mouth to exhale. As a result she blew flakes of smouldering weed and embers out of the bowl. Yoshimo laughed and took it from her, while she waited for it to take effect.

Colours grew sharper, the air fresh and clear. All about her the forest seemed more alive. Zaviak had been right. She'd seen the trees, but until now she had never really _seen _the trees. The forest was immense. Pointed treetops swayed against the glittering sky. She could stare at them all night. Yoshimo placed his hands behind his head and lay back contentedly.

After a while he said something deeply profound. They stayed up for hours having the most intense and meaningful conversation that she had ever had with anyone. Though come the morning, neither of them would remember a word of what they'd been talking about. What she did remember was them eating every scrap of food they had with them while curled up together in their bedrolls. It was perfect.

Near dawn an owl screeched, and they woke bleary eyed to an orange world. It was so bright that at first they thought the sun had already risen. Then they realised that the camp was on fire.


	31. Petty

"Viconia!" Rasaad cried in relief as the bedraggled silver lump of a rat poked her twitching face from between the rocks. There stood between them a gauntlet of cats. For the twelfth time that night she had risked creeping to the surface and the hungry felines had spotted her, but this time her monk had seen her too. Viconia had a choice. Scramble back down into the rocks and hope that by luck she emerged closer to him next time, and not in feline paws. Or make a run for Rasaad.

She chose Rasaad.

He ran toward her too, his feet splashing in the shallows of the river, but the cats were closing in from all sides. A ginger Tom sprang directly into her path, but Viconia carried on, plunging her teeth into his paw. To his lasting shame, Rasaad kicked a scrawny tabby who was poised to pounce on her. It flew through the air writhing and landed on all four paws with an angry hiss.

None of the other cats dared to approach him, so once she reached his broad hands she was safe. Before he could inspect her fuzzy body for injuries, she scurried up his sleeve and into his shirt, where she curled up just above his belt. This was a most unpleasant sensation for she was all soggy from the river. A growing wet patch soaked through his shirt to mark her position. The bulge shivered with fear and cold, making pitiful little snuffling noises.

"I am sorry Viconia. I should have done a better job of protecting you," Rasaad said softly. The rat gave no indication that she disagreed. "May I speak with you?"

There was no response, so he wandered a distance from the hungry cats then plucked her from his shirt. The rat was in no hurry to leave and dug her needle-like claws into his belt. One paw missed the belt and buried into his stomach, which was too uncomfortable to ignore. He pulled her out and placed her onto his knee, where her lovely white fur glimmered in the moonlight.

She sat up anxiously, looking about her for cats. It was only with more stroking of her head and soothing words that the monk was able to calm her down.

"Let me speak with you now. It is not too unpleasant a subject I hope." Rasaad said. It was a great deal easier to say this to her now than in her real form. For one thing he rather feared her response, and though rat-Viconia had no difficulty in making her feelings known, he would be spared one of her crueller put downs.

The rat sat precariously on his knee. She was looking all about her very carefully as though judging whether it would be safe to jump down. Rasaad took a deep breath.

"I just- how to put this?" the monk began. "When I embarked on this journey to avenge Gamaz, I felt that I must do so alone. I cannot tell you what your company- what your support- has meant to me."

She decided to risk it and hopped the short distance to the ground. Once she was sure that there was no immediate threat from predators, she started scratching at the mud with her paw. It took a while because the light at ground-level was poor and the grooves had to be quite deep for Rasaad to make them out.

"I do not know what I would do if I were to lose you, Viconia," Rasaad said, screwing his eyes shut.

When he opened them again the rat was squatting on her hind-legs, looking up at him with sweet, red eyes. She was standing beside her completed word. Just one word, scratched into the mud.

_EDWIN_

"You… you're still in love with _Edwin?_" the monk replied, stunned. He had underestimated her. Being a rat had in no way diminished her capacity to be cruel.

Viconia made a din of furious squeaking that attracted the cats back. He lifted her out of their way, and at the sight of him the tabby he had been forced to kick slunk away again hissing. The rat still had dirty paws. Enough to paint Rasaad's shirt in grime. She managed to trace the first couple of letters before she ran out of dirt.

_HA_

"So you are laughing at me now?" sighed Rasaad. "I deserve that I suppose. I really am a fool."

Viconia let out an unholy screech of fury and pulled at her ears in frustration. In her polymorphed state she could form no real words but he had been called a 'useless male' by her enough times to recognize the inflection when he heard it.

Risking the cats, she jumped down again to where Edwin's name was scrawled in the dirt and added to her message. Rasaad squinted at the ground trying to make out the letters as she drew.

"Equals sign… HA- HAY- HAYES!" he read. "Edwin = Hayes! Is that what you're trying to tell me Viconia?"

"SQUEAK!" Viconia replied nodding her head so hard it looked in danger of toppling off.

"Selune's light no!" Rasaad cried. "That's why he attacked you! We have to warn the others. How could I not have realised, the way he was muttering to himself? I am such a fool!"

Again, Viconia did not disagree with him, but in moments her worm-like tail was vanishing down the front of his shirt as Rasaad ran for the camp. They had gone some distance into the woods, and he smelled the smoke before he saw the orange glow.

It could not be the work of one mage's wild surge. The entire structure had gone up in a towering inferno. They could make out nothing through the acrid smoke but there were screams coming from inside the camp.

"Rasaad!" Arowan was running toward him with Yoshimo close behind. "Rasaad did you find Viconia?"

"She's safe," Rasaad panted, patting his shirt, "But the wild mages aren't. They've been betrayed. Hayes was Edwin in disguise."

"How do you know?" Yoshimo asked.

"Viconia recognized him. That's why he cursed her," the monk said. "And it gets worse. I thought it was strange that Hayes was launching lightning bolts over and over. A wild mage in a wild magic zone getting his spell correct every single time? I fear that the Red Wizards must have figured out a way to counteract the zone's effects."

There was nothing else for it, the party ran for the camp. When they got there, the palisade had formed a ring of fire. The only way through was the main entrance, where five Thayan's stood with large sacks, bagging each wild mage as they fled the smoke. One of the children was seized roughly by the scruff of the neck and stuffed into one, followed by his mother. As soon as they were trapped inside, the mage holding it teleported away, only to reappear moments later with a fresh bag.

"You are sure the sacks can contain these oddities' magics Lanneth?" Edwin was demanding. He still looked like Hayes, but already he had shed the purple robes in favour of red.

"Of course they can you cretinous pawn, I enchanted them myself," panted a Red Wizard who was struggling to hold onto a particularly large and thrashy bag. It bucked and rolled, until with a shriek she let it fall.

"But they cannot contain Minsc and Boo!" the berserker cried, emerging from the bag looking furious. His great sword arched over his head and sliced deep into Lanneth's shoulder. It was followed by one of Arowan's fire arrows. Since they had come expecting to fight wild mages, the Thayans' defensive spells were well prepared for fire, but not for the arrow itself. Nor for swords.

Rasaad and Yoshimo ran into the fray, raining down blows and Lanneth was soon lying dead upon the ground. At the same moment, Hexxat stumbled from the ring of fire, sporting a blood-moustache. Under one arm she carried the other wild mage child, who was clinging to her undead rescuer looking traumatized.

"The Red Wizards in the camp have been… dispatched," she informed them delicately, putting down the girl.

"Minsc has very mixed feelings about this," her party leader confessed, as blood trickled down Hexxat's chin, "But Boo says it is a conversation for later. We must free our comrades!"

Outnumbered and ill-prepared, the last of the Thayan's tried to teleport away, clutching their bags.

"No, no, no!" Edwin screamed. "You didn't slay the wretched oaf! What about our deal?"

Between them Minsc and Yoshimo cut down two more of them before they could complete their incantations releasing Neera and Telana. The two wild mages toppled into the ferns and fallen pine needles. Telana gazed up at her husband with stricken eyes.

"Hayes! How could you do this?" she screamed.

"That is not your husband," Rasaad told her, eyes burning. "He is a Thayan in disguise. Edwin Odesseiron."

"So you primates solved my little monkey puzzle. Congratulations," sneered Edwin. "No matter. You two may tell Bodhi that I have done as she asked. The Shadow Thieves are at war with one another. Mercifully my business on this pestilent continent has drawn to a conclusion."

"What did you do with Hayes?" Telana wailed. In response Edwin stuck his bottom lip out and wiggled an empty bag tauntingly. The wild mage crumpled into a weeping ball.

"Correction Odesseiron: your business with this whole mortal plane has drawn to a conclusion!" Minsc hollered. "Fight me coward! At last Dynaheir's death shall be avenged!"

"Take one more step and Aerie dies!" the Red Wizard threatened.

It was only then that Minsc registered her absence. Along with most of the wild mages, Aerie had been teleported away in one of their magic-proof sacks. The berserker bellowed insults at an unperturbed Edwin, but his feet remained rooted to the floor. He dared not risk the Thayan acting out his threat.

"Your words are nothing but the snorting of an angry pig!" Edwin replied disdainfully. "I invite you to Thay to seek poor Aerie out. Your party will make a fine addition to my and Baeloth's little business venture, if the guards don't kill you first. Better hurry though. I doubt such a delicate bloom will last long in the new Black Pits."

He teleported away, still wearing Hayes' face but with a smirk that was unmistakably Edwin. Arowan could not understand how she had not noticed it before, but she was furious with herself. She wasn't the only one. Minsc dropped to his knees beside Telana, his face like that of a lost child.

"I have failed my witch," he whispered. "_Again!_"

Then he burst into tears.

"Not yet you haven't!" Neera cried savagely. "We are going to rescue her, and Hayes and Zaviak and King Gramm! We are going to punish the Red Wizards for this and most of all we are going to conjure up one of those fireballs Edwin Odesseiron loves so much and FRY HIM ALIVE IN IT!"

Viconia, who had been sheltering in Rasaad's top during the fight, skittered out at this point to clap her tiny paws in agreement. She had considered Edwin and Baeloth to be 'her' males and they had left her service without her permission. Fireballs sounded like a most suitable punishment.

"I'm so sorry Minsc," Telana sobbed. "Bringing your party here so we could attack the Red Wizards' enclave was all his idea. If this Edwin knew that you were hunting him, then he must have been hoping you'd die defending us."

"And he has started a war between factions in the Shadow Thieves guild," Yoshimo remarked. "That will strengthen Bodhi's grip on Athkatla."

"He said 'you two' may tell Bodhi," Rasaad said slowly, his eyes turning to Yoshimo. "What do you suppose he meant by that?"

"We were aware that Edwin was trying to stir up trouble between the thieves," Arowan shrugged. Lying was coming ever easier to her these days. "While we were imprisoned in the complex Bodhi and Irenicus were not particularly guarded about what they said in front of us. They didn't think we were important enough for it to matter what we overheard."

The explanation satisfied the others, even Viconia, who wasn't really paying attention. She was hoping with every fibre of her little ratty heart that Rasaad's earlier words had been meant as a declaration of affection and not mere friendship. With his impressive strength and size, she had always desired him, but over the past year her feelings had grown into something more than that. He made her feel safe, sometimes even happy. It was an unfamiliar sensation.

When he glanced down and caught her twitchy little face gazing up at him, she flushed. Luckily the layer of silver fur covering her hid this, but she scrambled back into his shirt, curling up against his torso. She almost regretted that she must become human again soon, and forgo the sanctuary of his tunic.

"We have to help them," Arowan whispered to Yoshimo.

"We can't!" the thief reminded her urgently. "If we run off to Thay we'll miss Bubbles's summoning ritual."

"To Thay!" declared Minsc, lifting his sword above his head. "Boo shall have Edwin's eyes and Minsc shall take his buttocks!"

It was an inappropriate situation in which to laugh. However, the problem that Arowan and Yoshimo often faced was that their lives were routinely horrible. So much so that it was _never _really an appropriate time to laugh. _Someone _had always recently died or been hurt, kidnapped or lost a loved one. After such a long time, even without numbing potions, they were growing impervious to it. For this reason when they caught each other's eye, they spluttered at the mental image of Minsc taking Edwin's bum. Even with Aerie gone and Telana's lost husband, they could see the humour.

"Can you help us?" Neera asked plaintively.

"Would that I could," replied Rasaad solemnly. "But I must go to this meeting of the Twofold Heretics a week hence, and put a stop to Alorgoth before he wrecks yet more harm upon the Sun Soul Order."

"And we have to regroup with Jaheira and Anomen," Arowan pointed out. She felt guilty for not recognizing Edwin, but taking on the entirety of Thay sounded like a quest for a hero. The sort of job that people like herself and Yoshimo would not survive. He discretely squeezed her hand.

It was a sad departure from the Hidden Refuge. Minsc went west with Hexxat and Neera, headed for the nearest port to set sail for Thay. Arowan's party were trudging North to Umar. Telana was left standing in the ashes of the Hidden Refuge, the child Hexxat had rescued clutching her skirts. Arowan bit her lip.

"If it were Telana alone, we could ask her to join one of our parties," the ranger whispered, "But we can't take a child with us. Not where we're going."

* * *

* * *

It was agreed to take the most direct route to Umar and camp rather than stopping at Trademeet. As soon as they reached the boundary of the wild forest, Viconia began chirping happily at the thought of becoming drow again. Only to realise that they had no functioning spellcaster left in the group. Her disappointment was muted by Rasaad, who let her ride on his shoulder, stroked her soft back gently and fed her little crumbs of cheese from his pack.

"Are you ok with this?" whispered Yoshimo, pointing at them discretely. Arowan looked over at Rasaad, who was smiling soppily at the rodent on his arm and she wrinkled her nose.

"I'm fine," she replied in a low voice. "A little weirded out by the rodent-romance, but fine."

The thief grinned and slipped his arm about her waist. Arowan scowled suddenly.

"No, not a hundred percent fine!" she admitted, folding her arms. "If it were anybody else… but Viconia? I mean, he knows all sorts of stuff about me that I don't want her to know! I don't like the idea of her and Rasaad pillow-talking, laughing at my sex life!"

Yoshimo cracked up at this, so loudly that Rasaad turned to look at them, though fortunately he had not heard her words.

"Would he do that?" Yoshimo wheezed. "It seems awfully petty."

"I doubt he'd volunteer the information but I'd bet my bow-hand she'll ask him," Arowan replied darkly. "And she'll find a way to extract an answer. This is Viconia we're talking about."

"You could always retaliate," Yoshimo suggested wickedly. "Is there anything funny about him? Has he got any strange kinks?" Arowan looked away and refused to make eye contact, but her lip was twitching. "There is something, isn't there? Tell me my friend. I promise that I am the soul of discretion. Is it feet? I bet it's feet."

"Behave yourself," Arowan chided him, flicking the thief's nose. But the Kara-Turan did not behave himself. He made a game of it, asking her at random intervals to try to surprise her into an answer until she could contain the anecdote no longer. "He'd always meditate after," she said. "And I mean _always. _It was the same every single day; first we'd eat, then he'd tidy the room we were renting, then he'd do his shaving, then me and finally trot off outside to contemplate the moon. It really got on my nerves."

"One cannot help but wonder how Viconia will react to that," Yoshimo chuckled.

"Oh, that'll be the least of her disappointments!" Arowan said emphatically. Both she and Yoshimo had conveniently forgotten that just moments before they'd been describing such gossip as 'petty.'

"Come now my friend," he replied, "I have shared a room with the man. His size could hardly disappoint even an elephant."

"True," replied Arowan, feeling mean but carrying on anyway in the expectation that Rasaad would do the same to her at some point. "But I do not think his lessons in the monastery covered anatomy. There is a certain part of the female body, which he seems to be wholly unaware exists."

"Then that should allay your own fears," Yoshimo grinned. "For I suspect that if he does not learn _very _quickly, he will not get as far as pillow talk with Viconia. From the way she goes on, I cannot imagine her having much patience with an underperforming male!"

* * *

* * *

The party made good time toward Umar, but on the second day the weather took a nasty turn. Lightning forked across the sky, striking so close that their ears were left ringing from thunderclaps. Conversation was impossible, for the wall of water was so thick that even breathing was a challenge. Eyes stinging, they were forced to take shelter in a cave.

It was miserably cold. Their clothes were all soaked through, and there was no wood in the vicinity dry enough to attempt a fire. Despite the cave being narrow and the awkwardness of the situation, they had no choice but to strip off their soaking garments and curl up in their sleeping bags shivering. It was that, or freeze to death.

Rasaad in particular, was having a rough time. He got no sleep that night, and had to resort to meditation to stop himself from shivering uncontrollably. By morning his head felt fuzzy and he had the unpleasant sensation of a wet sock stuck in his throat. No matter how many times he swallowed it would not go away.

Dawn brought an ill mood to the party, for though the rain had eased, their clothes had not dried at all. Only gotten colder. Just one set of garments had escaped the deluge, and this was because their owner couldn't wear them. Arowan shook out Viconia's leathers which had been neatly tucked away in her tent and bed roll by Rasaad.

Apoplectic was the only word for the rat's reaction. She bit Arowan's hand and then her ankle. The second time, the ranger struck out with her foot instinctively, which might have ended badly for Viconia had Rasaad not snatched her out of the way in the nick of time. The monk felt it best to hold onto the rat after that, though she squirmed furiously and chittered her sharp little teeth at her enemy.

"I think you need to stop," Yoshimo advised, as Arowan attempted to hoist the drow's leggings over her rather prominent backside. "Remember what happened to the golden pantaloons."

"SQUEAK!"

Reluctantly, the ranger put on her own drenched pants, but at least she had a dry top for the rest of the journey. The same could not be said for the men. Yoshimo, whose long black hair was also dripping and who did not have a useful rat to warm his hands, was coldest. Yet it was Rasaad who was finding it the most difficult. His hands turned to white and then blue and by the time they arrived in Umar he was stumbling a lot.

It barely qualified as a village, being but an inn and a scattering of houses. Most of the population lived in individual homesteads on their farms, which stretched to the south and west as far as the eye could see. To the north there were a few more but they bordered a forest. A dark, forbidding looking place. They were not close enough to see much detail, but to the ranger's eyes the trees seemed somehow sick.

In the centre of the village was a raised fountain which seemed to double as a meeting place and shrine. Half a henge had been constructed around it and bordered with trees. It was easy to see why they had chosen this place to be the centre of their community. Majestic rock formations towered over these hills and the valleys were the nexus of several rivers. The shrine seemed druidic, but did not look like anything Arowan had ever seen before. She was just pouring over some strange carvings that seemed to depict animal sacrifices at the base of the stones, when Rasaad keeled over and toppled into the fountain.

Viconia was dunked into the pool with him, and the little rat swam to safety, while the others pulled Rasaad from the water. He was conscious but definitely out of it, and could not seem to keep his feet. He slumped in Yoshimo's arms as they half-carried, half-dragged him into the inn. For such unpleasant weather quite a few people had made the trip to the tavern and they looked up from their beers as the newcomers arrived. Arowan paid them no heed, and her sopping boots squelched across the wooden floor straight to the barman.

"We need a bed for this man!" she said urgently. "And are Jaheira and Anomen here?"

The barman, a portly gentlemen with a drooping moustache scratched his belly through a grubby apron.

"The mean druid and her young toyboy?" he asked, "Nah yer missed 'em. Minister Lloyd sent 'em out to catch the Umar witch. Left a couple of days ago they did."

Arowan swore under her breath. "Do you have a cleric in your village? Or a druid?"

"'Fraid not," the innkeeper said, before embarking on a longwinded grumble about the outrageous prices healers charged for their services these days. "Looks like yer lad will have to ride it out. We've a wizard, mind, if that's any help."

"No. Thank you, but it is… healing… magic we need," Rasaad groaned. "Ouch Viconia… What did you do that for?"

Viconia had chomped down hard on his finger. She leapt onto the bar, to the disgust of many of the patrons and began waving her paws over a cork coaster.

"That's not one of mine!" the barkeeper cried defensively the moment he clapped eyes on her. "They brought it in here, you all saw! Never had rats, no siree!"

"A wizard can turn Viconia back and then she can heal you!" Arowan sighed, translating for the furry cleric. For all Rasaad's useful qualities nobody could describe him as being quick on the uptake. It was a trait that had been masked when he was with Freya's party, for even trolls looked like scholars when stood next to her. Yet with neither the Hero of Baldur's Gate nor Minsc available for comparison, the monk's wisdom seemed sorely lacking. "Yoshimo you stay here and look after Rasaad. I'll try to find this wizard and get Viconia turned back."

Yoshimo nodded and with the barman's help began hauling Rasaad's heavy, muscular body up the stairs. Viconia watched them anxiously, wringing her paws together, until Arowan's hand descended like a claw. She was not so gentle as the monk when picking her up, and did not allow her to ride in her hands, on her shoulder or anywhere else she might be at risk of being bitten. Instead Viconia was crammed roughly into her pack.

'_Suit yourself,' _thought Viconia, rubbing her little paws together, and at once began nibbling tiny holes into Arowan's tent and bed roll. Then she moved onto the other woman's provisions, making sure to take one small bite out of each morsel to ruin it. Her appetite for both food and petty vengeance sated, she curled up for one last rat nap.


	32. Eldoth and Valygar

The wizard was not difficult to find. Not only was his house opposite Umar Inn, but he himself was standing outside gesticulating wildly in the middle of some sort of domestic row. A glum bard and an angry apprentice were each clinging on to the arm of a mud golem. It was still drying and quite small as golems went. Nothing like the metal monstrosities the party had seen in Firkraag's lair. This one was just slightly taller than a man and made of dirt.

"Please father, don't do this!" the apprentice mage wailed, as the old man slapped a handful of wet soil into the golem's chest.

"Colette, you are barely two months study away from qualifying to join the Cowled Wizards!" the wizard snapped. When he opened his mouth to speak, his teeth were a horrible brownish-black. "I'll not have you running off with this foolish boy to become a meek little housewife!"

"But good Sir, isn't that her choice?" the bard implored. He had slick black hair and snake-like eyes. From a distance he'd seemed handsome, but as she got closer, Arowan noticed a certain oily quality to him. "There is no higher calling for a woman than to be wife and mother. Colette understands this! Come, Jermien, let us make a deal. We'll hand over our firstborn son to be your apprentice. You can teach _him_ proper magic, not just baking enchanted cookies and housework spells. Leave the women to do what they do best, and in return you'll get the chance to train a proper wizard."

"Not if my hypothetical 'grandson' inherits your brains I won't," muttered the old man. "You are aware that intelligence is the key requirement for a mage?"

"Listen to Daar, father, he's a good man!" Colette pleaded.

"A good man? He's a liar is what he is!" Jermien thundered, beard bristling with rage. "He hasn't even told you his real name. He's not called Daar, he's Eldoth Kron!" At this the bard looked rather sulky. The wizard glared at him from under grizzled grey eyebrows. "What did you think, bard, that I wouldn't do some basic scrying on the man who wanted to steal my daughter from me?"

For a moment the woman looked rather shocked, but her beau's arm snaked about her narrow hips and he smirked.

"I _had_ to change my name, angel," he simpered. "I'm a hunted man, through no fault of my own. There's a werewolf in Baldur's Gate who'd send assassins after me if she knew where I was. Savage beast she is. She saw me with another woman, and it sent her mad with jealousy. Truth be told, I wasn't even that interested in the girl, but it drove that rabid mutt crazy. She was going to kill me. That's why I fled south in the first place."

"A werewolf sending assassins?" scoffed the old man. "I've never heard of such a thing. Any wolf worth her salt could destroy you with one swipe of her paw. And since when did the Flaming Fist let lycanthropes live in cities threatening the populace? Ridiculous! More lies!"

"The girl's name is Skie Silvershield and the werewolf is the Hero of Baldur's Gate," Eldoth sneered triumphantly. He had the air of a man pulling an ace from his sleeve. "Perhaps you have heard of them? Go ahead, do your scrying! Ask around! It's easy enough to confirm it. Anyway, why would a talented artist like myself settle for this dreary life of farming drudgery if my story weren't true?"

"Please listen to him father!" pleaded the girl.

"I _am _listening to him," Jermien muttered. "That's the problem."

The wizard's teeth were really bothering Arowan. They were not a natural dirty hue. Even amongst the beggars of Baldur's Gate she had never seen teeth quite like it. The sewer kobolds had better dental hygiene.

Ignoring his daughter's protests, Jermien barged past Arowan, scooped a handful of dirt from the ground and moistened it in the fountain water. As he did so, the trees above the mysterious shrine rattled their leaves. It was probably only the breeze, yet the ranger shivered. Something about the shrine made her uneasy. Not as uneasy as the teeth though.

Meanwhile the argument between father and daughter raged on. It seemed as though he was building the golem to watch her while he went on a trip out of town. The young woman was past the age of needing watching, but Arowan suspected the wizard's anger involved the young bard by her side. She was not very keen on interrupting them but there was little option.

"Erm, excuse me?" she ventured. The wizard spun around, seeming as furious with her as with the guilty looking couple stood before him.

"What do you want?" he snapped shrewishly.

"Could I hire your services please?" Arowan asked wearily. "Our party cleric has been polymorphed. We need to turn her back."

"Come inside and we'll have a look at her," he sniped, wiping the mud from his hands with a pocket handkerchief. "Colette, come with me and learn something. Eldoth, shoo!"

She followed the mage inside his home. There must not be much call for the Cowled Wizards' services in this remote region for this wizard was poor. He lived in more of a shack than a house. Two single beds occupied one side of the long room and a grill the other. It was lit and a small sausage supper was sizzling away over it, alongside a hissing iron kettle. Yet despite being impoverished, it was clearly a wizard's house. Great bunches of herbs hung from the ceiling, strange pickled things floated sadly in their cork bottles and a rack of wands took up an entire wall to itself.

"Jermien at your service," the old man said, his manner becoming noticeably friendlier the moment Eldoth was out of his line of sight. It was not an improvement, for he was smiling now, revealing all those blackened teeth. "This is my apprentice and daughter, Colette. Plonk your unfortunate friend on the table and we'll take a look."

Arowan drew Viconia from her pack, dropping her onto the table with such force that it knocked a squeak out of her. Jermien lifted the rat by her tail in one hand and prodded her with a long metal spatula. She squeaked and tried to bite him, but because she was hanging upside down, she could not reach his hand.

Still dangling her by the tail, he strode over to his bedside table and pulled out a large pair of spectacles. He peered carefully at Viconia, whose snapping teeth missed his nose by millimetres.

"How exactly did this happen?" Jermien puzzled, squinting at the silvery rat.

"Wild magic zone," replied Arowan, indifferently. "She tried to cast a spell. Our druid turned herself purple at the same time, but that curse wore off on its own. Whereas this seems permanent."

Jermien shuffled back to the table, swinging Viconia like a bag. By now the rat was in considerable pain from being carried by her tail. The tone of the squeaks had changed from angry to pleading. She wished Rasaad was there, for in Arowan she could not have a less sympathetic audience.

"Can you fix it?" the ranger asked after a while. Jermien popped the rat onto the table and pulled a pouch from his pocket. It was full of charcoal-black chewing tobacco. He cut himself a generous chunk and chewed it thoughtfully. Arowan thought of his revolting teeth and privately swore never to touch the filthy stuff herself.

The wizard swirled the tobacco around his mouth, then spat a glob of excess juice straight onto the cabin floor. Now that Arowan looked, there were dried dark circles spotted all over the floorboards. She could see why Colette was so desperate to get away. Though it struck her that eloping with Eldoth might be out of the frying pan and into the fire.

"Certainly I can fix her," Jermien nodded. "For the modest fee of one thousand gold pieces."

Arowan almost spat on the floor herself in astonishment.

"How much?" she wheezed. Jermien repeated his demand. She shrugged at Viconia helplessly. "I haven't got it."

"That's the price," Jermien replied stubbornly. "You want a cheap fix? Take your rat to Athkatla where wizards are two a penny. Out here there's just me and the Umar Witch."

"Is she cheaper?" Arowan asked optimistically. Jermien rolled his eyes.

"The Umar Witch is a myth," he snapped. "I was being facetious. There's me. Just me."

Arowan knelt down with her face at tabletop level, to look Viconia in her little red eyes. She took care to keep out of biting range, as she asked gently;

"Viconia? Have you considered the possibilities that staying a rat forever might have to offer you? Cheap food, free board in any tavern and you could make your nest in Rasaad's shirt!" As she predicted, the rat lunged at her but she pulled her head back, leaving the angry creature chittering at the edge of the table. "Just picture it. You and Rasaad could be the next Minsc and Boo!"

If Arowan were in any doubt that the following series of squeaks were supposed to indicate a death threat, Viconia also drew her paw across her throat to illustrate the point.

"I'm not sure what you want me to do Viconia," sighed Arowan. She and Yoshimo had been forced to steal most of the party's gold. Ever since then Jaheira, as party leader, had been keeping hold of their money. Unfortunately, the druid wasn't here.

"There is one thing you could do," Jermien suggested hopefully. "I'm missing a crucial ingredient for the completion of my little project out there. The blood of a mimic. Once I have some, I can bring my golem to life to guard Colette, and thrash Eldoth if he pokes his greasy nose around her again!"

"The golem is to guard your daughter?" Arowan asked wincing. She felt sorry for Colette. Jermien with his tobacco stained teeth or Eldoth Kron. What a choice.

"Yes, yes," Jermien said. "Bring me some mimic blood and I'll turn back your cleric."

"What is a mimic?" Arowan sighed resignedly, "And where would I find one?"

"A mimic is a vicious little shape changer that likes to attract and kill adventurers by looking like a treasure chest or similar objects," Jermien explained. "They're generally found in dungeons, ruins or similar places. Though where you'd find one around here, I don't know. That's why I'll fix your friend for free if you bring me some."

"Fine," the ranger replied. "What about you fuzzy? You coming with me to find mimic blood? Or shall I take you back to the inn, so that you can mop Rasaad's fevered brow with a very small flannel?"

Viconia slunk back into the backpack, curling up in the bottom moodily. They did stop back briefly at the inn, to tell the others where they were going. Arowan had no idea where to begin looking for a mimic so there was no telling how long she might be. Rasaad was sleeping fitfully in a warm room, with Yoshimo keeping an eye on him. The smell lingering about him suggested a sick bucket not long emptied, though the monk was not in such a state as to give Arowan any alarm.

In fact the ranger could not bring herself to care at all. She wondered what she would feel if Rasaad actually died. Something, surely? It was surreal to be in the company of the man she had loved for so long, and watch him suffer with such indifference.

"This is futile," Yoshimo said. "Mimics live in dungeons and abandoned towers, not woods and farms. Where would you find one here?"

"I might as well try," shrugged Arowan. "We have to find Jaheira and Anomen, so I'll be scouting the area anyway. You never know, I might get lucky."

She bid them goodbye and went downstairs, asking around the tavern, until she found someone who could point her in the broad direction that her missing party members had gone. Through the trees, across the stream and past a pile of boulders, they had said. There was Merella's cabin, and that was where they were headed.

What a useless set of directions these turned out to be! The entire landscape was nothing but trees, mounds of rocks and crisscrossing waterways. Beautiful though the scenery was, the ranger was just beginning to grow frustrated when her eyes lighted on a large cabin perched atop a cliff. A precarious, narrow path wound up the ledges to it. As Arowan climbed she got the feeling that she was being watched and when she reached the cliff edge, this suspicion was proven correct.

A thick hand shot out and seized her neck from behind. She struggled but it was useless, the man was much stronger than she was. Unable even to see her assailant, she felt her arm twisted up painfully behind her back. She screamed, but her attacker forced her forward so that she was lying on her front, her face and arms dangling over the cliff edge. It was a long way down.

"The Cowled Wizards sent you!" he growled breathlessly in her ear. "I know they did, my friend in the village saw you leaving Jermien's house. Don't bother denying it!"

"He sent me on an errand, so what?" screamed Arowan, her voice echoing down the sheer cavern.

"It was a fool's errand to come after me!" the man said grimly. He grabbed her by the back of the tunic, hauled her to her feet, and forced her roughly toward the edge. The lunatic was about to throw her over! Arowan struggled hard, screaming at the top of her lungs, but there was nobody to hear her.

Nobody, that is, except Viconia. Under normal circumstances the drow would be happy to see Arowan tossed to a messy death on the rocks below. However, not only was the ranger her best chance of regaining human form, she was also her only protector for miles. Negotiating her way back to the village in rat-form past a wood full of foxes, owls and fast flowing streams wasn't worth the risk. She had to help her.

Rat-Viconia scampered out of Arowan's backpack, up the attacker's arm and plunged her teeth deep into his cheek. The man hollered in pain and surprise, dropping the ranger. She backed away hastily from the cliff edge, notched an arrow, and shot the man just below the ribs.

Viconia scurried back to her, while the man looked contemplatively at the arrow poking out of him. He barely grunted in response to the pain, and stared from it to her with a resigned expression.

"Looks like you bastards finally got me," he said dully. "Fine. Make it quick."

"What in Ilmater's name are you talking about, you deranged old goat?" shrieked Arowan.

Yet he did not quite have the look of a mad hermit. Far from being unkempt and crazy, his hair was braided in meticulous cornrows and his beard trimmed and neat. His face seemed locked in a permanent scowl and his dark eyes burned with resentment and suspicion. She already had another arrow out, and this one was aimed between his eyes, but she recognized another ranger when she saw one. Despite having come close to being hurled over a cliff, she was hesitant to shoot.

"Who are you?" he asked slowly.

"Who are you?" retorted Arowan, "You said you had friends in the village. Do they know you're hurling random people to their deaths?"

"Not friends. A friend. Derrick. He came with me from Athkatla," the man replied. "I have to keep hidden, what with Jermien lurking in the village, but he can go there to get supplies for me."

"Jermien is hunting you?" she asked.

"No, but the Cowled Wizards are," he replied. "If he knew I was here, he'd turn me in. It's a long story, come inside and I'll tell you about it. You might be able to help me."

"Help you? You are joking, right?" Arowan said nonplussed. Her eyes darted to the fatal chasm near their feet, and then to her arrow which was protruding from his abdomen. Clearly it had not struck any vital organ but untreated it could still prove a fatal injury, given time.

Valygar tugged it out with a half-scream and took a healing potion from his pack. The wound mended but he was not out of danger, for his fellow ranger did not lower her bow.

"I fear we got off on the wrong foot," he understated dryly. "My name is Valygar Corthala. "A planar sphere appeared several weeks ago in the slums of Athkatla, that you may have seen."

"My name is Arowan and no, I haven't seen your sphere," she snapped. "And frankly, I'm not minded to help you look for it either, considering you just tried to murder me for no reason!"

Valygar let out a humourless laugh.

"You wouldn't need to look hard, it's huge," he told her. "It flattened half a street. My ancestor, the necromancer Lavok, built that sphere and disappeared with it over five centuries ago. It has not been seen since, until its recent reappearance. I have no desire to meet my ancestor, and even less to help the Cowled Wizards, who believe that my body is the only key to enter the sphere… alive or no."

Arowan was taking delicate steps backward. Away from this madman and his dratted cliff. Clearly she had the wrong cabin, but it did not sound as though Valygar was a serial killer despite first impressions.

"What a lot we have in common," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Not only are we both rangers but, believe it or not, I'm not interested in meeting your ancestor either! Nor am I interested in helping the Cowled Wizards… except your pal Jermien I suppose."

"Helping him?" demanded Valygar. "How? Why?"

The wind blew Arowan's hair over her face, sending strands uncomfortably into her mouth. With both hands on the bow, there was nothing she could do about this except try to spit them out. The long brown hairs clung disobligingly to her tongue.

"The rat who just bit you is a polymorphed person," she groaned. "Jermien is the only one for miles around who can turn her back, but I can't afford his ridiculous fees. He says he'll cure her in exchange for some mimic blood, so I'm looking for one."

Valygar seemed amused. He cocked one dark eyebrow at her and folded his hands over his broad chest.

"You're just wandering the forest in the hopes of happening to stumble across a mimic?" he smirked.

"And looking for my friends, a druid and a cleric," Arowan said defensively.

"I haven't seen your friends," Valygar said, "But the mimic I can help you with. On the condition that you refrain from telling anyone of my whereabouts." She nodded curtly. "There's one in my cabin, disguised to look like a wardrobe."

She lowered her bow a fraction but was still glaring at him mistrustfully. The wind whistled loudly, shaking the leaves and branches above. She had to raise her voice to make her next words heard.

"That seems like an awfully convenient coincidence," she remarked. "You wouldn't be trying to lure me into your home so that you can attack me again would you?"

Valygar snorted and shook his head ruefully. Had he begun their conversation with more caution, or spotted the symbol of Ilmater that she wore about her neck, he might have got the help he needed to deal with the planar sphere. As it was, gaining her aid was evidently off the table.

"Not a coincidence," he sighed. "Derrick told me that Jermien has been asking people for mimic blood for some time. The wizard can't afford to order one from the city traders, but I can. It arrived in a cart a couple of days ago. I was going to give it to him as a bribe to leave me alone."

"What do you want in return for it?" Arowan asked flatly. "Some sort of protracted mission involving this sphere of yours? Or are you going to send me on a quest to procure some other random item? A nymph hair perhaps, plucked at midnight on a harvest moon? Or would you like a half gallon of unicorn piss?"

"Nothing. Consider it a gift," Valygar replied. "By way of apology for our… misunderstanding earlier."

He stepped into his cabin and, against her better judgement, Arowan followed him. For a cabin in the woods, this one was unusually well fitted out with shelves full of leather-bound books and slick oil paintings hanging from the walls. Valygar was well heeled, certainly.

"You're a nobleman?" Arowan asked. For unassuming though his taste in décor was, there were obvious signs. The expensive hunting bows and spears hanging from a rack near the door. The fur-lined hunting jacket. The real silver cutlery clogging up his sink.

Valygar's face grew grim. He was silent for a long time, as he poked the wardrobe with his spear, slew the mimic and bottled its blood in his empty healing potion bottle. Then he gave a brief explanation, trying to use as few words as possible. Yes, he was a nobleman. The last Corthala, once one of the wealthiest families in Amn. They had been cursed with magical ability. Every one who had used their talents had become obsessed with it and ultimately come to a grievous end.

"Wild surges?" hazarded Arowan, with a glance at Viconia.

"No, they weren't wild mages," Valygar replied grimly. "They all ended up lured by the dark magics. Or darker, I should say. All magic is dark. Some, like my mother, only hurt themselves and their immediate family. Others like Lavok caused a world of chaos and damage. Damnable wizards, they should all be locked up if you ask me."

"There are good mages," Arowan frowned.

"Most of them start out that way," he replied with derision. "But magic always corrupts in the end. My ancestor Lavok set out to defeat the demi-lich Kangaax. Broke his body into pieces and hid him all around Athkatla. Only Lavok and his party were altered in the attempt. They decided to become immortal guardians, to stand guard over the pieces and ensure that Kangaax never returned. They became liches themselves."

Arowan's ears pricked up. Kangaax was the creature that Bubbles had been searching for all this time. His ring was the artefact she needed to perform her ritual to retrieve a more powerful Bhaalspawn from the Abyss. Only so far she had been unable to find the last piece of Kangaax's skeleton. There was a risk, if it took too long, that Irenicus might lose patience and decide to use her instead.

"So, your ancestor guards a piece of Kangaax?" she asked tentatively.

"No," replied Valygar bitterly. "For all their flaws, his companions did, at least, fulfil the duty they had volunteered for. Whereas Lavok abandoned his post and built the sphere."

"So his piece lies unguarded?" Arowan asked.

"The skull just sits in a crypt near the docks. They built a pub over it," Valygar spat disgustedly. "Every so often some adventurer stumbles across it, and the spirit of Kangaax tricks them into trying to find the rest of him. Fortunately the remaining liches do their job and so far nobody has ever succeeded. Plenty died in the attempt, mind. Lavok has a lot to answer for."

"Yes…" Arowan replied slowly, licking her teeth thoughtfully. "Well, thank you for the mimic blood. I'd best be going. Are you going to be alright?"

"As alright as I ever am, I suppose," sighed Valygar glumly. Despite their being no physical similarity whatsoever, something about the man reminded Arowan sharply of Xan. "I doubt the Cowled Wizards will find me. They never come here unless they have to. They're too afraid of the Umar Witch."

"Are they though?" Arowan squinted. "Jermien said she was a myth."

"Jermien is a fool," Valygar said darkly. "The Umar Witch is as real as you or I. Take a closer look at the shrine in the middle of the village, but don't drink the fountain water. Believe me, there's dark magic lurking in these hills."


	33. The Bard, the Witch and the Wardrobe

Arowan left Valygar's cabin hastily, muttering to Viconia what a strange and unpleasant man he was. For once she and the drow actually agreed on something, though being a rat, the cleric was unable to say so. As they walked down the cliff path, the ranger spotted the cabin that they had originally been looking for. It was small wonder that they had not seen it from ground level, for it was encircled by trees on all sides.

"It'll be quick," Arowan promised, as Viconia nipped her in protest. "We'll just pop our noses around the door to check whether Jaheira and Anomen have been. Then we'll return to the village straight away and have you changed back."

Merella's cabin was in a good state of repair and showed signs of recent habitation. Chopped wood was piled up near the door and the decking had been swept. Yet the door was ajar, and when they stepped into the cold, neat little home, it was obvious that something was wrong.

A trail of bloody paw prints led from the front door to one of the bedrooms. Red handprints were wrapped around the table leg and the chairs were askew around it. It seemed as though someone had been pulled out alive, grabbing the table as they left. Nervously, Arowan notched an arrow and tiptoed into the bedroom. The sheets were drenched in blood, and flies had gathered in the mess, but there was no corpse.

She closed that door, though there was little real reason to do so. The whole situation was making her shiver and every little rustle from the trees outside was making her jump. Creaking floorboards beneath her feet sounded deafening in the silence. She feared what the noise might attract.

Three documents lay on the table. Arowan had never been able to read properly. By sounding out the words slowly she was able to deduce that one was a note left by Jaheira, one a note left by an adventurer who had come before them and the third was Merella's journal. Reading their content would have taken hours and she was not minded to stay in the cabin that long. There were no enemies around for now, but it was a creepy place to find oneself with only a rat for company. Hastily, she crammed the items into her pack and left the cabin at close to a run.

Eager though she was to read the letters, she could not act on their content without the rest of her party. She ran to Jermien's house and banged loudly on the door. The wizard answered looking cross, a half-eaten sausage dangling from his lips like a cigar. When she held up the potion bottle of mimic blood, however, his eyes gleamed.

"Well done girl, well done!" he exclaimed. "I don't know how you found a mimic in the middle of a wood, and so quickly too, but here it is! Right, let's get cracking!"

He turned to the golem, arms half raised in incantation, when Viconia let out an indignant squeak. Jermien rolled his eyes, irritated at being interrupted. There followed a small cry of anguish. Colette had followed her father out of the cabin, dinner plate in hand. When she saw the mimic blood, she dropped her sausages and started to sob.

"Yes, yes fine. The rat!" Jermien snapped. "Just give me a moment and I'll turn you back. Now then… all I need to do is add this and my golem will be complete. Finally I will be able to leave in peace, safe in the knowledge that Eldoth will not be molesting my daughter in my absence."

He poured the blood over his fingers and traced out markings over the surface of the golem. The fountain water had almost dried from its surface. Hadn't Valygar muttered some dark warning about that water? Hadn't he implied that it was connected to the Umar Witch? Jermien was sure that she did not exist, but as the golem groaned and creaked into life, Arowan suddenly felt the urge to ready an arrow.

"Yes!" cried Jermien ecstatically. "Arise my creature! Awake and hear my command!"

"RAAUUGHHH!" moaned the golem. It reached down its muddy fists and seized the wizard by the front of his robes. A panicked look flashed over Jermien's face.

"Eh? Wh- what is wrong here?" he cried. The golem threw him forcibly across the room. Colette screamed as her frail father hit the wall and fell onto the bed below. He landed with a shriek and his foot was at an odd angle. "No, no stay back! Back! I command you!"

"FATHER!" screamed Colette.

There was nothing Arowan could do except try to intervene. Arrows are not much use against golems, particularly fire arrows against one composed of wet mud. Her shots struck it but sizzled out harmlessly. Jermien tried to curse the monster he had created, but since he had designed it for the purpose of controlling his mageling daughter, it was highly resistant to magic. Viconia attempted to bite it, but was left with a mouthful of foul mud.

Just in time, Arowan was struck by an idea. If the correct runes, daubed in mimic blood, were required to make the golem work, then perhaps she could break it by spoiling them! She grabbed the bottle, wetted her fingers and stroked several random marks over the runes.

The golem froze with its fist raised over Jermien. It turned around slowly three times before lifting the kettle from the stove and smashing it over its own head. Arowan tried to draw a red cross over the only part she could safely reach, its rear. In response the golem rotated his head 360 degrees, punched a hole through the nearest wall and lurched away into the wood.

They watched it go nonplussed.

"Hopefully that won't be a problem later," Arowan said brightly.

"You!" thundered Jermien. "You gave me false mimic blood, girl!"

"It was a real mimic, you just used a bad spell!" the ranger retorted. "It was probably the fountain water you mixed up with the mud. You got it from that weird shrine-thing over there. Have you ever taken a proper look at the engravings on those stones? It is dodgy as hell!"

She neglected to add that Valygar had been the one to warn her about it. Jermien did not, so far as she could tell, see the Cowled Wizards as anything more than dispensers of magic licenses. That didn't mean he wouldn't turn in the ranger anyway, since he had little incentive not to. Especially in his current grouchy mood. Colette, on the other hand, was practically dancing.

"Oh it's gone, it's gone!" she sang. "Thank you! Just wait till I tell my darling Daar! I mean… Eldoth!"

She skipped across the road in the direction of the Umar Inn. Jermien tore at his beard in despair.

"One of my own creations turned on me," the wizard said, looking sadly at the hole in his wall. "It… it seems I am not so wise and powerful as I had once thought. And perhaps I have been foolish in some of my other decisions as well. If Eldoth will love my daughter, protect her and take good care of her then I should not stand in the way."

He looked balefully at Arowan. Though she did not know Eldoth personally, she did know him by reputation. It seemed exceedingly unlikely that he would either love or take good care of Colette. Most likely, in her desperation to escape from under her father's thumb, the poor naive girl would end up a serving maid to someone even more oppressive.

"She's an adult, you can't force her not to make poor choices," Arowan said slowly. "It's obvious she doesn't want to be a Cowled Wizard and forcing the issue is probably what drove her to this in the first place…"

Jermien opened his mouth angrily.

"…But," the ranger went on calmly, "If you'll agree to turn Viconia back, I think I can probably get Eldoth to leave of his own volition."

The mage closed his mouth, and his eyes narrowed shrewdly.

"Deal," he replied, stroking his beard. "Leave your rat here and I'll fix her up."

Arowan returned to the inn, where Eldoth was already drunkenly leering over Colette. She was perched on his knee, giggling and fawning over her 'catch.' The other bar patrons looked away uncomfortably as he slobbered over her neck, while inviting everyone to their wedding at the top of his irksome voice.

"Excuse me," Arowan said, tapping his shoulder, "Might I have a word?"

"If Jermien's sent some message, tell the blasted old man to accept when he's lost," Eldoth crowed.

"No, it's not about that. I have good news for you both," she smiled as sweetly as she could manage without the Charisma Ring. Colette seemed displeased at being interrupted but Eldoth looked intrigued. He followed her into the stables, turfing out the stable-boy with an unceremonious flick of his boot.

Ever the 'romantic,' the bard picked up a piece of straw from the stable floor and wove it deftly into a golden ring before popping it onto Colette's finger. She sighed and gazed at him adoringly. Arowan felt a surge of guilt, but if Eldoth really did love her then what she was about to say made no difference. If he didn't, she was doing Colette a favour in the long run.

"Freya is dead," she said.

These three simple words had a startling effect on the bard. His pack fell from his shoulders, landing with a musical twang behind him. His arms dropped slack to his side, his mouth hung open like a startled fish and he took a step backward in shock, before his expression changed. It was as if the sun had risen on Eldoth's face. Then to the astonishment of both women he gave a great whoop of joy and leapt into the air.

Eldoth threw his arms about her, spun her around and then kissed her in celebration, much to Colette's dismay. It was a moment so disgusting that Arowan would repress the memory of it for the rest of her life. Mercifully, by twisting her face away, she managed to escape his lips actually meeting hers (just) but her cheek received a proper sliming. She pushed him back and stumbled away, straightening her tunic.

"Freya is dead?" he gasped. "The Hero of Baldur's Gate is gone? You mean it? How did she die? Tell me!"

"Skinned alive," Arowan replied flatly. Eldoth threw back his head and howled with laughter. Then he turned two full somersaults over the hay bales, earning him frightened whinnies from the startled horses.

"What a way to go!" he grinned. "I'd buy whoever did it an ale. Hells, I'd buy him a whole damn tavern if only I had the gold. Ha! You know what this means don't you? I don't have to hide anymore! I'm free to return to Baldur's Gate!"

He scooped up an armful of hay and flung it over his head with a cheer, dancing amongst the falling strands like a madman and singing at the top of his lungs.

"But dearest!" cried Colette, tugging at his sleeve, "I don't want us to go all the way to Baldur's Gate! We're staying here, where I can keep an eye on father. We were going to set up a smallhold and keep sheep, remember? That's what we planned."

Eldoth paused his celebrations and picked up his pack, suddenly looking extremely shifty. He opened one of the stalls and began quickly saddling up the small brown mare who was grazing within it.

"Ah… yes… '_We…' _The thing about that is…" he began slowly. Then suddenly he swung his leg over his horse and rode it out into the stable. Colette squealed in shock and was just about to protest that she was not eloping with him to Baldur's Gate, when Eldoth made it clear that she did not have the option. "Plans change, my love. Goodbye!"

With that he jammed his boots sharply into the horse's bottom. She neighed loudly and took off out of the stable. Colette ran to the door and Arowan followed slowly. Together, surrounded by the smell of hay and horse manure, they watched Eldoth gallop away down the road. Gradually the sound of hoofbeats faded, till all that remained were the distant songs of the local drunks and Colette sniffling.

"Father put you up to that!" she cried, slapping Arowan.

"The Hero of Baldur's Gate was one of the most famous adventurers who ever lived," Arowan replied harshly. "Eldoth would have learned of her death sooner or later. Would you rather he leave you now, or _after _he'd sired a baby or two?"

Colette sank into a stuffed hay bale and burst into tears. One of the remaining horses stuck her muzzle out of the stall and nudged her softly. It seemed like a lovely comforting moment, until the humans realized that all the mare really wanted was to stop the apprentice sitting on her food.

"I suppose Eldoth never would have been content to live as a farmer, out here with me," Colette sighed sadly. "I guess I'll let father take me to Athkatla and become a Cowled Wizard, just like he always dreamed of."

"You desperately don't want to be a Cowled Wizard, do you?" Arowan observed.

"Father never listens, but I don't really like cities and I loathe magic," replied Colette. "It always seems to go wrong, and even when it goes right, it does more harm than good."

The pair wandered back toward Jermien's house, which was even more of a hovel now that it sported a golem shaped hole in the wall. Colette looked about her desolately. Even her father could feel no glee over Eldoth's departure. Not with his daughter so hopelessly unhappy. Arowan bit her lip. She had promised not to tell anyone, and this family in particular, about Valygar, and yet…

"You know a ranger moved into the clifftop cabin north-west of here recently," Arowan ventured off-handedly. "Maybe you should go and introduce yourself Colette. He doesn't like magic or cities much either. Could be you'll make a friend."

"On the subject of friends," Jermien interrupted abruptly. "Yours is in the closet. You didn't warn me she was a drow and now she won't come out."

"Is she back to normal?" asked Arowan, fingers brushing the latch. As soon as Viconia heard the ranger's voice she burst from the wardrobe, with only a blanket wrapped about her for modesty. The ranger yelped in shock and stumbled backward, as Viconia summoned her flaming sword. "Ok, yes she is. Shit! Thank you Jermien, I have to go now!"

The ranger turned and fled back in the direction of the inn, Viconia hot on her heels. It was as well that the market place was not busy that day. Only a handful of the regular traders caught sight of the semi-naked drow, their mouths dropping in shock. Ignoring the gasps and catcalls from the patrons, Arowan shoved her way through to the stairs and ran up them three at a time.

"We are not that kind of establishment!" protested the innkeeper, though he stared at Viconia running up the stairs along with everyone else.

Rasaad had recovered somewhat and was sitting up in bed, attempting to meditate. Yoshimo was humming under his breath and staring idly out of the window with a bored expression. Arowan darted in and slammed the door behind her.

"You are back," the monk observed pleasantly. "Is Viconia recovered?"

"LET ME IN YOU RIVVIL C-!"

"Oh yes," nodded Arowan emphatically. "Viconia is feeling much better."

The door burst open, to reveal a furious drow. Her long silver hair cascaded down her shoulders, the ends just brushing the arc of her back. Any notion of inner calm fled Rasaad's mind. He stared in helpless shock and longing at her long legs and full, half-exposed chest. She was panting from the effort of running and looking at Arowan with a savage fury.

"I beg your pardon madam, but you seem to have mislaid your clothes," Yoshimo pointed out, keeping his composure rather better than Rasaad.

"Mislaid? She stole them!" screeched Viconia. "As if throwing me about in rat-form like a stuffed toy weren't enough, she left me without a stitch to wear in the shack of that loathsome wizard! He gave me a blanket in the end, but the dirty old man took his time! I had to listen to no end of despicable comments about drow while he stood there salivating!"

For a moment Arowan wondered what in Faerun the drow was talking about. Then she remembered that she had taken Viconia's unused tunic when her own got soaked by the rain. Worse, she was still wearing it.

"You weren't using your tunic, you were a rat!" protested Arowan.

"You could at least have brought some clothes to the wizard's house when I changed back instead of leaving me like this!" Viconia seethed.

"I forgot! If you'd just asked instead of attacking me…" countered Arowan, but she was cut off by the other woman.

Viconia tackled her bodily onto the bed and began tugging at the tunic with the apparent intention of removing it and taking it back herself. The ranger pushed her off and attempted to pin her, and in the ensuing struggle, the drow lost her towel.

"Get off me, you possessed kobold!" panted Arowan, but Viconia succeeded in pulling the ties on the tunic and was now attempting to rip it off. "Quit it! Who do you think I am? Freya?"

"I respected Freya's request not to shove the mace handle up her arse, which is more than I will do for you if you don't give me my tunic back!" the drow hissed in reply. Even she knew that her behaviour had gone beyond ridiculous, but there was something about Arowan that she found impossibly provocative. A visceral hatred that far outweighed anything that the Ilmatari had ever actually done to her, and outstripped all her other enemies.

Stripping being the operative word, for she succeeded in removing the tunic from Arowan's back, albeit tearing a seam out in the process. She scratched Arowan hard in the face, in exactly the same spot where she had scarred her during the crusade. The ranger responded by pulling her hair.

"We should probably do something," Yoshimo said to Rasaad, while making no move whatsoever to stop them. Moments like this were why, in spite of everything, he did not really regret leaving home. Entertainment like this just didn't exist in the strict Ilmatari sect of his youth.

"Agreed!" Rasaad replied, his voice rising to a panicked squeak. "We should do _something!_ But er… what?"

"We could pull them apart?" Yoshimo suggested gamely. "I'll haul Arowan, you grab Viconia?"

"I am… a little reluctant to stand up at present," the monk admitted in an urgent whisper.

Though he kept his voice low, the feuding semi-clad pair heard him. Both women paused in their struggle and stared at the monk. Arowan sported an especially perturbed expression.

"We're only human," shrugged Yoshimo.

Arowan and Viconia immediately sprang to their feet, covering themselves with whatever was available and looking furious. They had been so caught up in their hatred of each other, that they had quite forgotten the men in the room.

"Avert your eyes male, or I shall pluck them out!" Viconia hissed at Yoshimo.

"I wasn't really looking at you, no disrespect intended," the Kara-Turan replied with a sarcastic bow. Arowan meanwhile, was wrinkling her nose at Rasaad as though he were something that had crawled out of the privy.

"As if being slobbered on by Eldoth wasn't bad enough for one day!" she snapped. "If you're healthy enough to leer, you're well enough to shop. Get downstairs and buy us both some new leathers."

"Out of your share of the gold males!" Viconia added, though unlike Arowan she was not wholly displeased with Rasaad's reaction. "Go on, move!"

"They will have to be cheap ones," Yoshimo warned them, patting his pocket nervously. "Jaheira left only forty gold pieces between us."

"Cheap is better than nothing," Arowan snapped. For a moment Yoshimo's eyes sparkled at her and he looked as though he were about to disagree. Luckily he thought the better of such jokes and made himself scarce, taking Rasaad with him.

Cleric and ranger were left alone together. The stench of Rasaad's earlier vomiting still lingered about the room. All at once, Viconia was gripped by a strange and almost overpowering sensation. She felt, with every fibre of her being, that it was worth losing Rasaad and the protection of her party, worth losing her life, worth losing _everything… _to conjure her flaming sword once more and plunge it into the ranger's chest.

Only it would not be that simple, for the ranger already had an arrow in her hand. Viconia knew in her heart, with absolute certainty, that Arowan was thinking the same thing. For a while neither of them moved, like two alley cats in a stand-off.

"Something is very wrong here," Arowan said at length. The feeling was ebbing away like a receding tide, but the threat of it returning lingered.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the drow lied, stiffly.

"Yes you do," Arowan said coldly. "We've never liked each other. I'd even go so far as to say I hate you, Viconia, only… I don't think I hate you _this much._"

"You can't harm me," the drow threatened, "I'm the Servant of all Faiths."

This wasn't strictly true. The gods had shown time and time again that they were perfectly happy to allow their Chosen One to be harmed. Just not killed. Yet Viconia was not about to advertise this fact to her enemy. Or was Arowan really still her enemy? The rivvil had a point. What they were feeling went far beyond whatever genuine enmity they had. There was something unnatural about it. The ranger shook her head, trying to dislodge the invading thoughts.

"Here Viconia, while we're waiting, I need you to read these," she said, handing cleric the documents she had retrieved from Merella's cabin.

The drow took them and perused the writing with irritating (and Arowan suspected deliberate) slowness. All the time she kept glancing up at the ranger's bow. Finally she flung the diary aside.

"Nothing much of interest in here," she said, "The local ranger was getting more frightened of the forest wolves recently, which does not surprise me given what we saw in her cabin. This letter is signed by someone called Mazzy Fentan."

"Sounds like a halfling name," frowned Arowan. She guessed that the Sharran was leaving Jaheira's note till last just to annoy her, but she refused to rise to it. If there were anything terribly urgent in it, the drow would be quicker to get to the point. Viconia cleared her throat and read;

"_Minister Lloyd,_

_We travel this day to search out the wolf lair. My own scouting of this region confirms Merella's suspicions that a large pack of wolves is operating in this area. On the map included, I have detailed where I believe the wolf den to be located. The position of the blood stains and furniture suggest that she was dragged from her cabin alive, and it is my hope that she may yet be rescued. My intent is to return within three days, or at least send one of my party back to the village to report. Should we fail to do so, you must assume that my entire adventuring party and your ranger have all been overpowered. In this event, I would urge you to write again to the Order of the Radiant Heart for aid, rather than sending men from the village._

_Mazzy"_

On the same sheet was drawn a crude but clear map, indicating the path to a forested area several miles to the north. With infuriating care, Viconia delicately uncrumpled Jaheira's note, taking her time to smooth out every corner. Arowan ground her teeth, knowing that any entertaining response on her part would only entice the drow to take longer.

"_To any who come after us,_

_At the request of Sir Keldorn of the Order of the Radiant Heart…_

(The ink has run over this part, I believe Anomen must have spat on Keldorn's name)

…_myself and Anomen Delryn have come to investigate the disappearances plaguing the Umar Hills. Originally our intent was to meet with the rest of our party before proceeding, however it has already been more than the three days stated in Mazzy Felton's letter. If her party or the ranger Merella are still alive, their time may be short and so we have headed in the direction indicated on Mazzy's map._

_J"_

"Of course you have," groaned Arowan, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Because if an entire party couldn't beat the wolves, a pair of adventurers ought to be able to take them down, no problem. Come on Viconia. We might as well pack up and get ready to leave as soon as we have new clothes. Looks like we're on the road again."


	34. Amauna

Sickness had gripped the forests north of Umar, and each step closer to the spot marked on Mazzy's map grew worse. The air itself hung with a sweaty miasma, so thick that they could taste it. Black rot grew up every tree and the trunks creaked alarmingly as though on the brink of falling over. Beneath their boots oozed a dank, fetid slime. No birds could be heard, but the air rang with the mournful cries of wolves.

It was summertime in Amn, but the land here seemed to have forgotten that. This was not like the crisp icy cold of the Cloud Peaks but a bilious chill that accumulated in the lungs with every breath. At one point, Viconia suggested that they make camp until dawn, but Arowan was growing more afraid for Jaheira with each passing moment and refused to stop. In any case, as they were soon to discover, dawn never came to this region.

With the aid of Mazzy's map they found the den that they were searching for. The wolf lair itself had already been abandoned. Arowan walked around the deserted cave, inspecting piles of gnawed bones and one body in particular, which had been chewed up and left to rot.

"Wolves don't do this," Arowan muttered, crouching beside what had probably once been a man. "They'd either eat it or bury it, but they wouldn't foul their own lair with rotting flesh like this. I'd say there's not been a living wolf in this cave for some time. A week at least."

"What do you mean, a 'living' wolf?" asked Yoshimo unsteadily. Woods were pleasant enough for picnics, but when it came to adventuring, he was more at ease with cities and dungeons.

"Something out there is making that unholy howling," she said grimly. "And this wood is definitely haunted. I keep seeing shades out of the corner of my eye."

Much to Yoshimo's dismay, the party decided to follow the howls to their source. Emerging from the woods, they arrived at the entrance to a great stone temple. They passed a fountain spluttering dark liquid that reeked of death and decay. Arowan immediately thought of the fountain in the village square and wondered if they were linked. It didn't appear so. This one had no henge around it and no peculiar carvings. Quite the opposite; it had an ornamental, almost domestic appearance. Were it filled with normal water it would make a pretty courtyard centrepiece.

Wispy shades were gathering around them. It was not just out of the corners of their eyes that the party could see them now. Pale spirits of wolves and men were emerging from the trees, their sightless eyes staring unblinkingly at nothing. Behind them on a plinth sat a small gem that seemed to burn with an inner light, faint but noticeable. Yet what drew Arowan's attention more was the pillar on which it stood.

It was made of blue marble, decorated with gold bands that ran about it like the legs of an armoured spider. The gem was the centrepiece of a single eye, like that of Helm, stamped into a crude representation of a golden helmet. As she squinted into the gloom she saw long-dimmed lanterns placed around the temple, which looked like the domes of the Morning Lord.

"Keldorn is going to cream his pants," she whispered to Yoshimo. The thief did not reply. His skin had turned waxen and he was barely listening, his eyes fixed on the shades. Before him he held out his katana in trembling hands. Arowan jabbed him in the ribs. "Check it out! We've just found another temple of Amaunator!"

"So it is!" the thief said shakily, looking around him. He was trying to sound brave and unconcerned, but failing dismally. "More lectures from Keldorn about the historical and cultural significance of an archaic religion. I bet Anomen will just love that."

"Wait!" Rasaad cried, "You found a temple of _Amaunator? _And you did not tell me?"

"Not just the temple, we found Amaunator himself," Arowan said, readying a fire arrow while Viconia made her devotions to Shar in preparation for the coming fight. "It was the strangest thing, there was a whole temple complex buried under the sewers of Athkatla. Even some of his priests were still there, but they're gone now. It was decorated just like this place. Very distinctive with the blue marble and the gold. You couldn't mistake it."

Rasaad let out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a wail.

"We are on holy ground!" he exclaimed, dropping to his knees and making the sign of Selune.

"We're also about to be attacked by at least a hundred shades," Yoshimo pointed out, his voice rising. "Is this really the best time for meditation my glabrous comrade?"

"They seem hesitant to come near the light on the plinth," Viconia noted. She cast a disapproving look at Rasaad. "What has gotten into you this time, moon male?"

"Amaunator was the original patron deity of the Sun Soul Order," Rasaad breathed, awestruck and still on his knees. "It was founded in ancient Netheril and called the Brotherhood of the Sun. With the fall of Netheril, Amaunator vanished. Some believe his power now resides in other gods. Different factions of my order turned to them. Most to Lathander, some to Selune and a very few to Sune. But you… you cannot have met him. Amaunator is gone."

"We came across one of his avatars," Yoshimo shrugged. "It was not that big a deal my friend. Not compared (to take a completely random example) to being attacked by a hundred shades at once."

"Never mind Rasaad," Arowan rolled her eyes, "When we return to Athkatla, you can be the one to tell Sir Keldorn all about it. I can't overstate how happy it will make him to have someone to talk to who is as enthusiastic about these temples as he is. Perhaps he can give you a tour of the one in Athkatla."

"I would be honoured beyond words!" Rasaad breathed.

Arowan rolled her eyes again but her impatience was soon replaced by fear. The shadows were advancing and as they approached a chill settled on her that seeped down to her bones. Her first fire arrow whistled into the darkness, driving through a wolf spirit. The arrow itself sailed straight through the translucent creature, lodging in the bark of a nearby tree. Yet the fire remained behind, glowing within the wolf, burning briefly inside it and weakening it, before snuffing out.

There was a terrible stillness, and then the struck wolf began to howl. An unearthly, anguished wail that went on and on. The rest of its dead pack picked up the call until the woods rang with a deafening assault upon the party's ears.

Surging like a rolling mist, the undead swept toward the party. Arowan shot five in quick succession, but this only served to slow the spirits. Sallow hands reached out to grab her, passing through her with freezing fingers. She caught glimpses of faces, some screaming, others sad. Old, young, male, female but all with the marks of the injury or disease that slew them. The shade of a wolf leaped at her, teeth bared. It hurtled through her torso, landing behind her. With its passing, Arowan's insides cracked with unbearable cold. Her breath caught and for a moment, her heart paused.

Rapidly the shades drained the strength from her until first she could no longer fight, then she couldn't stand and finally the ranger could not even force herself to remain conscious. The ground rushed to meet her and she felt no more.

Rasaad was already ashen-faced, and he would be the next to drop. His Sun Soul powers gave him the ability to call powerful light and fire but the effect was brief. Easily he dispersed the first wave of shades to come at him into harmless mist, but after that his kicks and punches were useless. The shimmering pallid hand of a long-dead temple guard reached through his chest, as though his muscles were nothing more than water. It clenched around his heart, and the monk fell too.

Yoshimo was doing a little better. He'd had the presence of mind to stand close to Viconia, who was focusing all her powers to Turn Undead. She kept the shades at bay in a little ring around her, but not by much. They pressed themselves against her invisible barrier, and if she let her concentration slip even for a moment, the spirits would have them.

The thief possessed no weapon or power that could harm the shades, which were now swarming over the fallen bodies of Rasaad and Arowan. Panicked, he looked at the softly glowing gem that the shades were still avoiding. He tried to grab it from its plinth but it would not come loose.

Beneath it he saw a foreboding set of steps leading down into the temple, but they could not outrun the ghosts while carrying Arowan and Rasaad. There was no easy way to reach their fallen companions in any case.

A short distance away was a large pit, the edges scratched and torn. It did not look like it belonged to the temple complex, in fact the mounds of loose earth and rubble surrounding it suggested that it had been dug recently. The darkness of the pit was so black that it strained his eyes just to look at it, but it was not wholly unfamiliar. It bore, Yoshimo thought, a striking resemblance to the entrance Lord Firkraag had dug into his own complex.

"Shades or dragons," he remarked weakly to Viconia. "How would you prefer to die?"

Viconia did not answer him. He turned to see her mouth moving to the words of the incantation slowly and feebly. A wolf was pushing its white muzzle toward her, and to his horror, Yoshimo watched the last of his companions collapse. Now he was alone and feeling his own strength start to ebb away. He hefted his katana, ready to make one last stand. The light of the gem reflected from it, and the approaching shades recoiled.

"Aha! You do not like this ghosties?" he cried hopefully, searching around him for anything reflective. The temple boasted large stained glass windows, they were dirty and dim but a little of the crystal's light reflected from them. With the hilt of his katana, he smashed the nearest one.

The glass fell with a crash and a lingering tinkling sound. It was a cheerful little noise, to counter the chilling howls of the wolves. The outside of the glass had been coated in grime but breaking it into fragments revealed new, clean edges. Thousands of tiny rays of the gem's light reflected from them brightly. Yoshimo smashed another window and another, coughing from the stale, centuries-old air that he was releasing.

Soon the area was brightened by the reflected light, and the shades backed away, though they did not back very far. He could still make them out, moving about in the shadows of the trees. There was no hope of going back the way they had come. After checking that Arowan was still breathing, and pulling her further into the safety of the light, Yoshimo sat down heavily and had some water.

Once again, he had saved the party and nobody saw it, but perhaps it was as well. The thief could just imagine what Keldorn would make of him vandalizing an ancient temple of Amaunator. Even if he defended himself by saying it was to save their lives, he doubted that the paladin would think their lives worth it.

The only possible way to go now was down, but they were safe for the moment and Yoshimo decided to let his party sleep and recover a little. He unpacked their bedrolls and wrapped up his party as best he could, then lay next to Arowan for warmth. Her hands were as cold as death itself, and he drifted into an uneasy sleep beside her, hoping that the gem would not go out before dawn.

When they woke, hours later, Amaunator's gem shone as constantly as ever, but the sun had not risen over this desolate place. Breakfast was a subdued affair. They had not regained all of their strength. Rasaad in particular, who had been recovering from a fever before they even set out, was in a bad way. He was pallid, listless and every so often his body shuddered with a suppressed cough. Viconia tried to heal him, but she could not restore the energy that the ghosts had sucked away. Her own confidence, meanwhile, was deeply shaken.

"The gods let me fall without intervening," she said, almost accusingly.

"That light on the plinth seems divine in nature," Rasaad pointed out fairly. "It would appear that Amaunator still has some power after all."

"At least within the confines of his own temples," Arowan nodded. She was curled up against Yoshimo, her face bloodless. "But when we found the avatar of Amaunator beneath the cult of the Unseeing Eye he was weak, and that was with living worshippers. I doubt we'll find any of those here. We shouldn't count on much help from him."

"I am here," Rasaad reminded her defiantly. "I am living."

"I thought you followed Selune?" Yoshimo asked, curiously.

"There are those who believe that Amaunator became a tripartite deity," the monk replied. He looked terrible, but lecturing his companions on philosophy always cheered him up. "Abbot Hanor Kichavo teaches that Lathander, Selune and Sune are his aspects. If so, following any one of them equates to the worship of Amaunator himself."

"First the Twofold Trust and now this?" Viconia half-shrieked in disgust. "Is there no end to your heresies?"

"I did not say I believe that he became tripartite, I merely acknowledge the possibility," Rasaad replied calmly. "It is one of many conceivable ways that the deities of light might be linked. A far cry from the Twofold heresy which seeks to equate light and shadow."

"Your suggestion is even worse than the Twofold heresy!" the Sharran replied. "Selune is the twin of Shar. Weak and anaemic though the milkmaiden is, if she is merely an aspect of a more powerful god then Shar must be likewise. I will not suffer such insults, ignorant male!"

Arowan and Yoshimo were eyeing the dragon-hole glumly. There was nothing for it though, but to face whatever was inside the temple, for they could not leave the gem and return through the woods. Besides, it seemed likely that this was where Anomen and Jaheira had gone.

The party descended the stairs using Viconia's sword for light. Each footstep echoed loudly, but oddly enough they encountered no resistance. Every so often, however, they passed the battered bones and fallen weapons of undead guards. Someone else had already come this way. There were also streaks of red and more bloody paw prints, which they followed deep underground to a long stone corridor. Most of the shades were above and could not cross the gem's light to pursue them down here. A few were lurking about but these could be dealt with one by one using Turn Undead, fire arrows and blasts of Rasaad's Sun Soul powers.

Only one door opened leading to a large crypt containing a single tomb, with an effigy of a little girl carved into the stone slab. It reminded Arowan of Imoen's grave in Candlekeep, and this one was also empty. The bones were defiled; scattered around the room and gnawed on by wolves. It was a huge vault to house one child, whoever she was she must have been important. Yet it seemed as though this crypt had never been finished. A great mural of the rising and setting sun had been abandoned, half painted. There were partially completed statues and blue marble plinths with the gold only semi-wound around them.

"The prophetess Amuana," read Viconia from an inscription beneath the tomb. Arowan was looking sadly at her tiny, chewed skull.

"We'd best put her back," she sighed, gathering the bones and replacing them in the stone crypt. She placed the head tenderly in its proper place on the pillow, but the other bones were so small and numerous that it would have taken an expert days to reconstruct her. They dropped in the pieces with as much dignity as they could manage and between them, they slid the tomb closed. Normally Rasaad could have done this alone, but with his strength so depleted it took all of them together to complete the task.

As the slab covered the bones, the stone eyes of the girl's effigy blinked open. They glowed with a golden light. Had any of the party ever met Sarevok in life, they might have recognized the divine stare, though hers was much faded. Without moving its lips, the stone Amuana spoke.

"I appreciate your effort to close my tomb, but he will only open it again," she said in a distant, echoey voice. "The last ones tried to salvage my bones too, but he locked them away and let in the wolves to desecrate my remains once more."

"The others?" Arowan asked urgently.

"First the halflings, then the druid and her companion," Amuana elaborated.

"Where are they now?" the ranger cried.

"Through the door to your right. The tombs which once housed my custodians have been emptied and turned into cells. I fear that you will join them soon. I would aid you if I could, but I gave my holy symbols to the halfling knight," she whispered. "It was my hope that she would defeat the Shade Lord and purge this place that I might, finally, be forgiven my failure and be allowed to pass on. Alas, it was not to be."

"What failure do you speak of?" asked Rasaad.

"I was born a prophetess amongst my people, and raised as their leader. It was hoped that I would lead a revival of our dying faith. Instead I was slain in my youth, and my remains entombed here. The fall of my faith and of my people followed swiftly."

"You cannot blame yourself for that," Arowan told her gently.

"Oh, but I can. I made a terrible mistake," Amuana said, suddenly fearful. "In the process I sacrificed the favour and protection of my god."

"What in Selune's name did you do?" Rasaad demanded, recoiling.

"She was only a child!" Arowan chastised him. "Whatever she did could not possibly have merited this fate."

"True, I was indeed a child, but a prophetess child," Amauna sighed. "The worship of my people made me arrogant, when in truth I was untutored and foolish. I thought to unleash the power of the Golden Sun Lord in one glorious burst, purging all darkness from the world. I believed that I was ridding the world of evil."

"What did you say?" Viconia asked sharply, suddenly taking an interest. "Ridding the world of which evil?"

"All of it," Amauna confessed sadly. Viconia's red eyes widened in curiosity and alarm. "Everything would be perfect, I imagined, and the grateful people would flock to Amaunator. With a child's understanding I perceived only darkness and light, right and wrong. I did not think of the children those of evil alignment would leave behind. Nor the civilizations ground to dust, nor how defenceless the survivors would be from the denizens of other planes. I certainly did not realise that had I succeeded, my actions would have annihilated my own god."

"This is all sounding a bit familiar," Arowan said. She and Viconia were looking right at each other. "What happened next, Amauna?"

Barely perceptibly, the carved stone face changed. The little girl's lips curved upward into a bitter smile. One silvery tear slipped from her golden eye. It tinkled to the floor, hardening as it fell into a perfect pearl. Yoshimo picked it up, earning him a glare from Arowan.

"The gods sent a servant to punish me for my crime and end my folly," the prophetess told them. "With the result that you see before you."

Viconia gasped loudly. Rasaad looked from her to the prophetess and gripped her hand instinctively. Amauna's story seemed to fit with everything they knew about the Servant of all Faiths. With the obvious exception that these events had occurred prior to the fall of Netheril, centuries before Viconia's birth.

"This… erm… this servant of the gods?" Arowan began, with a sideways glance at Viconia. "What exactly did they look like?"

"He was a dwarf, with a huge golden beard and an axe made out of…"

"Ok, never mind," Arowan said, relaxing. Beside her, Viconia let out a thin whistle. The drow was not sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. "It was just a thought."

Though she felt great pity for the dead girl, Arowan's main concern was with the living. She took the door indicated by Amuana but as soon as she did a skeletal guard clattered out of the darkness, carrying a bunch of iron keys on his fraying belt.

"You shall not free the master's consorts, mortal!"

"_Consorts?_" Arowan echoed, disgusted and horrified in equal measure. "Since when did ghosts want spouses?"

The skeleton paused, cocking his skull to one side. Empty sockets throbbed with a ruddy light as though he were thinking.

"No, what I meant was that their bodies will be taken over by the Shade Lord," the skeleton replied through chattering teeth. "It's not a romantic arrangement."

"Are you sure? Only that is what consort means," Arowan said doubtfully. "It's a very specific word."

"I don't think so," the skeleton jailor snapped, folding his fleshless arms.

"She is right, you know," Yoshimo nodded.

Some of the colour had returned to his face since their encounter with the shades. Arowan had thought the way he had broken the windows to save them was very brave and clever, although it would be nauseating to go around saying so. He was so resourceful even when he was terrified. Not to mention fun and sexy with his long black hair which was really very…

"Stay out of this Kara-Turan!" the skeleton retorted waspishly, jerking Arowan back to her senses. "Common isn't even your first language."

"Actually, it is," Yoshimo corrected him, draping a friendly arm over the skeleton's shoulders. The fingers of his other hand went straight for the keys while the undead guard was distracted. "I must say that I find your assumptions most offensive."

In so far as it was possible to have expressions with his facial muscles decayed away, the skeleton looked abashed. He straightened his rusty armour awkwardly and adjusted his broadsword in a self-conscious sort of way.

"I'm not prejudiced!" the skeleton protested. "Some of my best friends are from Kara-Tur. Admittedly I don't remember exactly _which ones, _but it's not my fault if their faces rotted away centuries ago. We're all the same underneath, you know."

"As you are walking proof of," nodded Arowan, trying to keep the skeleton talking while Yoshimo did his work. "But consort still implies husband or wife."

"What about 'consort_ing' _with the enemy?" insisted the skeleton. "Ha!"

"Consorting is a verb. It has a subtly different meaning to the noun consort," Rasaad pointed out. They stared at him, and he shrugged. "Part of the role of a monk is to convert others to Selune's light. Language lessons were taken very seriously in the monastery."

Yoshimo slipped the keys silently from the guard's belt, then coughed at Viconia. She focussed her energies and began to Turn Undead. At once the skeleton threw his hands to his eye sockets as though something were hurting him and backed away down the corridor, complaining bitterly as he went.

"This is no way to win an argument!" he whined, his voice growing more distant. "What about the master's mate? Concubine? Bondsman?"

"None of those words mean what you think they mean!" Arowan heckled. "Try 'host?'"

"You're right, host is better!" the skeleton cried from somewhere in the distant darkness. "Thank you!"

They made their way to the cells. The nearest was already open but it was quite empty. A used slop bucket in the corner and a pile of crumb covered plates suggested that it had been occupied at one point, but the prisoners had been taken already. Then they unlocked the adjoining cell.

What they saw next was more horrendous than anything Arowan had ever imagined possible. Gamaz's workshop, Irenicus's dungeon and all the horrors of Athkatla's sewer system could not have prepared her for what met her eyes.

Anomen was sat on the ground, legs splayed with his pants down. His face was turned determinedly to the far wall, and both his eyes and fist were clenched. Crouched beside him with her hand on his manhood, was Jaheira.

Rasaad gasped and turned away, covering his eyes, while Yoshimo went red. Viconia doubled over, her squeaking laugh reverberating through the dungeon. Yet by far the strongest reaction came from Arowan. Her shocked scream was so loud and piercing, that for a while even the wolves outside paused their howling to listen.

The young cleric's head snapped up. His face had already been scarlet, but now it turned close to purple.

"Haven't you people ever heard of knocking?" he demanded.

"I… this… you…" Arowan squealed, paralyzed in horror but unable to turn her eyes away. "You swore not to use the Charisma Ring to hit on my mother! YOU BASTARD!"

"It's not what it looks like," Anomen mumbled.

Jaheira, who seemed completely unabashed, rose to her feet with her hand on her hip. She looked down her nose at all of them, with an imperious expression.

"Of all the puerile nonsense!" the druid thundered. Arowan had no response to this. She turned heel and began to stride rapidly away, with Jaheira calling after her. "Where in Faerun are you going child?"

"To feed myself to the dragon!" the ranger hollered hysterically. "I've decided that I no longer want to live!"


	35. The Temple of Amaunator

The inside of Jaheira's cell was empty and pitch black. Even the limited light from Viconia's flaming sword burned the prisoners' eyes. The first thing Anomen did, before uttering another word to any of them, or even troubling to pull up his breeches, was to dive into Rasaad's pack for food and water. He tore a small loaf in two, gave half to Jaheira, and the pair of them gobbled it down in seconds. They were behaving as though they'd had nothing to eat or drink in days. Which, in fact, they hadn't.

To Arowan's immense relief, there was a simple explanation for the strange scene that the party had stumbled upon. It was nowhere near so dreadful as it had first appeared. Except, perhaps for Anomen, from whose perspective it was much, much worse.

"You see, while we were in Trademeet we ran into some old friends," Jaheira explained, as Anomen pulled his pants up. The young man looked like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him, though he was so desperately hungry and thirsty that his shame did not dull his appetite. "Coran and Safana. She and Anomen hit it off quickly…"

Arowan and Viconia's faces split into identical evil grins. Anomen replied with a withering stare of his own. It was hard for him to look threatening, however, when his cheeks were stuffed with bread like an overfed hamster.

"I think I see where this is going," chuckled the ranger. Beside her, Viconia started squeaking again. Even Rasaad allowed himself a smile. It felt good to see her happy.

"Well, quite." Jaheira nodded. "Anomen here has picked up not one but two distinct rashes. I've never seen a combination quite like it, a very curious case. Small pustules around the base and shaft with blisters at the tip. Silly boy was too embarrassed to say anything when he first noticed symptoms so the infection has had time to settle in and make itself at home."

"Do they really need this much detail?" moaned Anomen miserably.

"I bet this will make you think twice before hopping into bed with Coran again," Viconia remarked to Arowan spitefully. Beside her, Rasaad winced.

"I doubt our idiot stallion would have sought help for months," Jaheira went on, "But once we were locked in that cell together his constant scratching was impossible to ignore. It was like he had lice in his crotch! So, I convinced him to let me take a look."

"That is hilarious," Arowan said happily.

Despite the fact that they were still trapped in the temple, she was relieved to find Jaheira alive. Besides, it was hardly their first life-threatening situation. For the moment things were looking up.

"You will not think it so fine a joke when it happens to you!" Anomen exclaimed, looking cross. "Which given your lifestyle, ranger, is only a matter of time."

"I don't think my lifestyle is nearly so exciting as you imagine it to be," she giggled.

"I am glad you find the situation so amusing," Jaheira snapped, "Although I doubt that you'd have been smiling so much if you had been there yourself. Having to tell Coran what happened to his best friend was no laughing matter."

"Oh gods, he didn't know?" Arowan groaned. She hadn't thought of that. As quickly as it had come, her good mood was gone. "How did he take it?"

"Badly," Anomen replied grimly. "Although Safana seemed quite pleased. Apparently, Coran is the heir to the Hero's entire fortune. At one point she was actually talking about digging up Freya's fur so they could prove to her bankers that she's dead!"

"WHAT?" thundered Rasaad and Viconia together, like a pair of erupting volcanoes.

"What?" asked Arowan and Yoshimo at the same time, but the tone in their voices was fearful.

"Coran wasn't having any of it, of course," Jaheira said in a satisfied sort of way.

Everyone relaxed again, except for Arowan. She knew Safana well enough to realise that there was no conceivable way she would let the money go out of respect for Freya's grave. By now the thief would have tunnelled halfway down to the hells searching for the Hero's remains. Doubtless Safana must have realised that the pelt wasn't there. What would she do now? Come looking for her in all likelihood. It was a good thing that Valyghar had let slip Kangaax's location, because the ranger had a bad feeling that she was running out of time.

"Praise Sylvanus!" Jaheira groaned, biting into a strip of beef jerky. "I thought for sure we'd end up as skeletons in this twisted place."

"They were starving you to death?" Arowan asked. "Why?"

"Not on purpose, I don't think," groaned Anomen, slumping against the wall. "But the guards have been dead for so long, they've forgotten what humans eat. They tried bringing us a dead branch and some mud the other day. The Shade Lord would probably have got around to feeding us eventually, but he's been busy."

"What is happening here?" Rasaad asked urgently.

Druid and Helmite explained what they knew, eating and drinking every provision they could lay their hands on as they did so. A Shade Lord had corrupted this former temple of Amaunator and was using it as a base to conquer as much of the surrounding land as possible. He was growing an army of shades by killing as many people as he could drag to his altar, supplemented with the spirits of wolf packs who until recently roamed this region.

"He keeps some alive though," Anomen said darkly. "Only the strongest."

"The Shade Lord is not a creature of this plane and must possess a mortal body, feeding off its life," Jaheira nodded. "When he captured us he was inhabiting the flesh of the ranger Merella, but she was badly wounded when the wolves dragged her from her cabin. Yesterday he limped down to the cells, seemingly on death's doorstep, and hauled Mazzy away. I expect the next time we see him, he will be wearing a halfling skin."

Yoshimo shuddered. "We must find a way out of here," he said. "This is Rejiek Hidesman all over again."

"The Shade Lord is different in nature to the skin dancers, but just as unpleasant," replied Jaheira. "We must defeat him if we can."

"Defeating him is too ambitious for us," Arowan said quietly. "We saw what looked like a dragon-hole on the way in here."

This was clearly news to the captured pair, and Jaheira cursed softly. Dragon slaying was beyond her party's capability, even when they were all at full health. As it was, they were starved, drained and trapped between two impossible foes; a dragon below or a shade army above.

"Bah! To hells with it. I vote for the dragon," said Anomen after a while. "If we're going to die anyway, we might as well do it heroically."

"We survived a dragon once before," Rasaad comforted Viconia. "Perhaps we can do it again."

He did not sound very convinced, and with excellent reason. The dragon in question had incinerated his lower half so badly that these days the skin on his legs resembled tree bark. Its vicious claws had forever blinded the eyes of Selune that the young monk had tattooed onto his chest in the monastery. Sometimes, in her nightmares, Viconia still pictured Rasaad torn open down the middle, with his innards spilling from him.

Arowan did not fancy their chances either. Though Rasaad and Viconia had been present, the actual dragon slaying had been a joint effort between Freya and Coran, neither of whom were here.

"Is there another way out?" she asked.

"I believe these symbols will open the only path to freedom," Jaheira replied, pulling some golden discs of Amaunator from her pockets. "Mazzy gave me these before they hauled her away. There's no sense staying here. We must make a decision. Forward or back?"

The vote was unanimous for forward. It meant probable death in the jaws of a dragon, but since the alternative was certain doom at the hands of the shades, they had no choice. Mazzy must have been an adventurer of some skill for their way had been largely cleared. Piles of animate but recently disconnected bones twitched harmlessly on the floor.

Nothing gave them pause as they progressed through the temple ruins, except for a blue marble statue of a woman, kneeling at the end of a trapped floor. It was clearly special, for her eyes blazed with light. She was holding out her arms as though waiting for something to be placed in them. Jaheira stopped at the foot of the statue and gazed up at it as though in a trance. Anomen had to shake her quite hard before the druid would snap out of it and move on.

"Are you alright?" he frowned.

"Yes… and no…" Jaheira said slowly, her eyes turning uneasily to the waiting statue. "I felt… strange. As though someone were stepping over my grave."

"Hey here's a thought!" Arowan said, changing the subject abruptly. "I'm going to go out on a limb here, and guess that this dragon we're approaching is probably of the evil variety. Supposing, Viconia, you were to walk up to it and say; 'Hey buddy! Servant of all Faiths here. How about letting us go?'" Rasaad scowled at her while the drow made a faint hissing noise. Arowan grinned at them both. "Why not? It worked a treat on Firkraag."

"An excellent suggestion," Jaheira nodded approvingly. "And, if the dragon decides to eat our cleric instead, it will give the rest of us a chance to escape."

"I would never flee a battle leaving one of my comrades behind!" Rasaad cried, as usual taking things a little too literally. "Not even a servant of Shar!"

"I shall remember that remark, male," Viconia muttered.

They followed Jaheira up a long staircase and emerged at last into the great hall where Mazzy Fentan's party had fallen. Above them the stars twinkled down, for the hall lay directly beneath the hole that the dragon had made when it clawed its way into the temple. Since it had only arrived recently the den was not so customized as Firkraag's had been, though already this specimen had accumulated a much grander hoard.

They could not see its face, for the beast was curled atop its treasure like a monstrous black cat. Snores like a lion roaring made the coins below it tremble. Its hide was translucent like the shades, and they could not tell its size for it was impossible to say where the dragon ended and the shadows began. At the other end of the hall was a stone archway and beyond it they could just make out stairs leading upwards. There was no way to reach it except through the dragon.

"It occurs to me," Yoshimo whispered, very quietly, "That we are directly below the shades and so these stairs will, in all likelihood, emerge close to the place where we came in. That being so, we may as well try to go back the way we came. If we must fight through the shade army either way, then there is no sense in risking a dragon's wrath as well."

"No, the Shade Lord is this way," Jaheira insisted. "Destroying him is our best chance of survival. If he dies, his control over these spirits will be lost and they will be free to pass on to the Fugue Plane. The dragon is sleeping. Everyone take off your boots and we will try to creep past it.

Rasaad went first. He was the obvious choice, being both the fastest and able to detect traps. He slipped into the shadows and seemed to disappear altogether, emerging moments later in the archway at the opposite end of the hall and signalling to the others that the way was clear. The shadow dragon did not stir. Arowan and Yoshimo then moved forward together, but they were just passing its thick spiked tail when the pale face of a shade wolf peered over the edge of the dragon pit.

Arowan tapped Yoshimo, who looked up too and gasped. The wolf threw back its head and cried out. Soon dozens of its fellows surrounded the rim of the pit. They did not leap down, seemingly unable to perform feats that would have killed them in life, but they set about a tremendous howling. They were joined by their ghostly human counterparts who screamed wordlessly and pointed at the party.

The dragon, of course, woke up. With a yawn it stretched its vast wings, blacking out the sky above and plunging the hall into total darkness. They ran for where they remembered the exit being, dropping their boots behind them.

"How amusing that you mortals would dare to enter the lair of a shadow dragon," the monster chortled. "Are you daft? Blind? Whatever, I shall tear your bodies apart and feast on your innards while you whimper and cry for mercy."

A fire arrow hurtled from below, striking the dragon in his jaw. It clattered harmlessly to the floor, leaving the beast chuckling and entirely unhurt. The creature retaliated by beating its wings with the force of a small hurricane. The adventurers were flung sideways into the wall of the hall. There was a loud crack and for several moments Arowan was completely blinded by pain from her ankle breaking. Yoshimo was much more badly hurt. He had been knocked out cold, and a thin trickle of blood was oozing from his mouth.

She tried to tug him toward the exit, but with her ankle twisted and cracked, she was barely able to move herself. The pain was blinding. In desperation she fumbled for a healing potion, but by the time she had swallowed it, the dragon was bearing down on them again. She could not see its face in the shadows, only the malevolent glow of its eyes. The ranger aimed for the left one and shot, but she was still hurting and her aim was slightly off.

The arrow clattered to the floor impotently just as the first one had done, but it had flown close enough to the shadow dragon's eye to give the creature pause. Just to make sure that she did not try such a stunt again, it screwed its eyes shut. This made it more or less invulnerable but had the side effect of blinding itself.

Ice cold breath tickled Arowan's neck, but she could not bring herself to leave Yoshimo. The possibility never crossed her mind, it was unthinkable. She would sooner abandon her own hands. The ranger buried her face into his barely moving chest and waited for death. A moment later, his body was being lifted out from under her, but she refused to let go.

"I have him. We need to move!" a Calishite voice whispered urgently in her ear. Despite being drained, Rasaad lifted the other man, albeit with more difficulty than he usually would. Arowan followed them swiftly to the exit, wondering why the dragon did not attack, but not daring to look back.

From the safety of the archway it was difficult to make out what was happening in the dark, but she could see shapes moving around. The grunts of ogres and squeals of kobolds rang out as the dragon snatched them up. It sounded as though Jaheira had summoned creatures to distract the monster, and this strategy had half-succeeded. They were all safe, but they were also trapped at opposite ends of the hall.

"There's no way past it!" Jaheira hollered.

"We'll have to fight the Shade Lord alone," Arowan replied. "If he dies, the three of you can escape the way we came in."

"Don't be a damned fool!" bellowed Anomen. "If we couldn't defeat it, what makes you think that you can?"

"Do not disturb the Shade Lord at this time!" the shadow dragon screeched. It snapped its jaws into the archway but it was much too large to follow them up the stairs. Turning its lizard-like body to the side, it reached a vast talon into the hole, scrabbling to snatch them like a cat pawing a mouse hole.

Arowan wondered why it did not just use its breath, but the reason soon became apparent. They were much closer to the surface than they had realised. The flight of steps was but a short one and had the dragon used its breath weapon it would have damaged a dark altar sited at the top.

Whether it was the gods intervening on Viconia's behalf once more, or whether they were just very lucky, was something they would debate at length later while contemplating their miraculous escape. Against the Shade Lord there were only two of them (three if they counted Yoshimo, but he was unconscious). Both Arowan and Rasaad were somewhat drained and neither had any specialist skills left that would help against the undead. The outcome ought to have been a foregone conclusion.

Fortunately for them, there was a reason that the Shade Lord had been too preoccupied to feed his prisoners. As they stepped out into the cursed forest they found his undead servants mid-ritual, partway through exchanging consorts. The emaciated corpse of a ranger lay discarded at the foot of his altar. It could only be Merella. The Shade Lord himself, was curled up in a foetal position, shivering on the altar in the body of a halfling. A host who, for the past few days, had been stubbornly refusing to surrender.

"Are you Mazzy Fentan?" Arowan asked cautiously.

"More souls to feast on. Welcome all!" the halfling replied, her breath freezing mid-air as she spoke. Then the voice changed from deep and echoing to one which was normal, but weak. "It's cold… so cold…"

"Embrace the massster," one of the spirits whispered in her ear. He too was a halfling, and seemed to be leading the ritual they'd interrupted. "You were our leader in life, it's only fitting that we should serve you in deathhh. We're all here Mazzy. All here with you, forever and ever. Jussst let go…"

"No!" Mazzy wailed. "Twisted fiend! Only death shall stop me from avenging those noble souls that you have stolen!"

"You are already dead my beloved," the shade assured her. "As dead as I am. He is in you now and cannot be cast out."

Mazzy was sitting up determinedly on the altar, shaking with effort. Every fibre of her being was resisting the evil within her. The halfling's pain was evident, but her jaw clenched. Unusually for a halfling, she wore the armour of a knight, though Arowan was quite sure that the paladin orders did not accept her kind as squires.

The shade of her follower was whispering in her ear again. Mazzy screwed up her eyes and moaned in misery, her resilience eroding grain by grain. Arowan aimed a fire arrow at the halfling ghost behind her and shot. At once the shades surrounded them, but they were few. Only those of Mazzy's party were present. The ones whom the Shade Lord had thought he could use to wear her down. He had not anticipated anyone making it past both his army and his pet dragon before the ritual was complete. Of course, he had never imagined that gaining control of a simple halfling would take this long.

Even so, to overcome this handful of shades, Arowan was forced to pull a rather underhanded stunt. It took several shots each to disperse the spirits, the arrows sailing through them while the fire remained burning within. They were bound to drain her energy again before she had a chance to destroy them all. There was only one way to prevent this.

She ducked behind Rasaad, kicked the monk in the small of the back, and sent him stumbling forward into their path. He was already badly drained or she would not have been able to knock him over. Now he was about to have his remaining energy sucked from him. He glared at her with anger and betrayal, before the shades engulfed him like flies. This made everything much easier. Since it was the fire that was hurting them and not the actual shots, the ranger pulled a fistful of fire arrows from her quiver, flicked them alight and dropped them on top of the nearest shades.

They wailed for a moment, before exploding into mist. Unfortunately for Rasaad, the still-hot metal tips passed through the shades and landed on his weakened body, branding him like pokers. He screamed and writhed, semi-conscious on the toxic ground beneath the altar. She dropped the next bunch, trying to avoid them landing on him, but not completely succeeding. The last shade was still feasting upon him, sucking the last traces of his energy with the enthusiasm of a child licking its pudding bowl. Defeated and enfeebled, the man gave a last shudder and fainted.

"Sorry about that Rasaad," Arowan said, though she did not feel as guilty as she probably should. She thrust the last set of arrows into the remaining shade tip-first while holding onto the shaft. The colourless halfling shade drooped over the burning arrow heads like a melting marshmallow. Then it too was gone. "Huh," the ranger noted, still holding the arrows. "I guess I didn't need to drop the burning heads onto you after all. Shame I didn't think of that sooner."

Rasaad did not reply. Like Yoshimo, his breathing was shallow and he was utterly insensible. Viconia, Anomen and Jaheira remained trapped on the other side of the shadow dragon. Arowan was quite alone now, save for Mazzy Fentan.

The halfling was still sitting with difficulty on the altar. She was hideously unwell, with great grey bags beneath her eyes, yellow blotched skin and braided hair that was dripping with grease. Her long ordeal without food, sleep or washing made it impossible to tell what she normally looked like. Mazzy turned her blue eyes to Arowan.

"Kill me," she croaked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
Out of curiosity does anyone else form mental playlists when they write? Like associating certain songs with particular characters or relationships? Just for the sake of sharing, here's some of the soundtrack to what you've been reading.  
  
**
> 
> …  
  
**Character Themes  
**  
Jaheira: Adeimus (Enya)  
Coran: Fairground (Simply Red)  
Bhaal: God Shuffled His Feet (Crash Test Dummies)  
Freya: Black Sheep of the Family (Rainbow)  
Arowan: Sleeping Sun (Nightwish)  
Skie: Swan Lake (Tchaikovsky)  
Safana: Karma Chameleon (Culture Club)  
…  
**Relationship Themes  
**  
Freya and Coran: Sit Down (James)  
Jaheira and Khalid: Can't go Back Now (Weepies)  
Arowan and Rasaad: Wanted (Cranberries)  
Viconia and Rasaad: I Hate Everything About You (Three Days Grace)  
Minsc and Aerie: Be Happy (Aqua)  
…  



	36. The Shade Lord

"What did you just say?" Arowan asked, shocked.

"The Shade Lord is right, we are as one now," Mazzy choked. "I cannot fight him forever, he will overcome me in the end. He's incapable of staying here in our world alone and without a consort. It's the only way to defeat him. Kill me, do it quickly,"

"I can't!" she replied, horrified.

"You must!" Mazzy insisted. "I would do it myself but he is always fighting me… I feel his will in my soul… it is so cold…"

"We'll find a way to cure you," the ranger insisted. "There are two clerics and a druid in my party, just the other side of the shadow dragon. It won't attack you if you're carrying the Shade Lord. Just walk past the dragon and…"

"You don't understand," Mazzy replied forcefully. "I cannot do _anything _without his consent and he cannot do anything without mine. Right now I am holding him back from destroying you, but that is all I can do, and I won't be able to hold him off much longer. He will butcher your friends on this altar… Just as he killed mine…"

"No…" Arowan moaned.

"For your companions' sake and mine, if not for your own," Mazzy pressed, "For the villagers of Umar who will be next to fall to his wrath and for all those whose souls will be stolen before he is defeated. Kill me. Kill me now! Please, it is almost too late! Do it now! Do it-"

Mazzy's last words were cut off. Arowan lowered her bow, staring in horror at what she had just done. There was no sound at all except for the ghastly noises the halfling made while she choked on her own blood. Her small hands scrabbling at the arrow embedded in her throat, eyes rolling back into her head.

The ranger had expected her shot to be an instant kill. Yet, perhaps due to the power of the Shade Lord, the halfling was taking too long to die. Too stunned by her own actions to rectify the situation, Arowan watched helplessly, until she could bear it no more. She shot Mazzy again, this time through the eye and a third time through the heart.

Finally the halfling keeled back over the altar. An unearthly screech like the howling of the shade wolves ripped through the land, reverberating for miles around. In a whirlwind of darkness, the Shade Lord left Mazzy's body and returned to wherever he had come from.

"By the gods, what have I done?" Arowan breathed.

Rats and cattle were slaughtered routinely in Candlekeep and as a ranger it was taken as a given that she would hunt. Despite this, she had managed to make it through to adulthood avoiding killing anything larger than a bug. Life as an adventurer had robbed her of that privilege step by step. She had found herself killing first animals for food and then kobolds, goblins and other semi-sentient creatures. Though only when they left her no other option. Her earliest casualties, she had taken to the temple to revive until she ran out of gold to do so. Gradually she had come to terms with slaying those who, for evil reasons, were intent on killing her first.

Caelar's doomed crusade had been another significant fall. The faces of the enemy soldiers still haunted her dreams; men and women who believed that they were doing good. She'd had to fight. Failure to do so would have been by far the greater of two evils. Only those soldiers had been trying to slay her first. This was different. She had killed in cold blood a brave, noble and defenceless woman who had done her no harm.

Not war. Murder.

Yoshimo and Rasaad lay unconscious on the ground. She poured healing potions down their throats with shaking hands, before collapsing into a heap. With the departure of the Shade Lord the land about her was brightening. Beams of sunlight shone through the leaves of restored trees. Yet rather than comforting her they scorched her eyes.

Now that the evil influence on the altar had been destroyed, some of Amaunator's golden colouring could be seen beneath the filth of the Shade Lord. To Arowan his statue seemed to glare down at her accusingly from atop the altar.

"What else could I have done?" she cried hoarsely. Her hair was strewn across her face as she conversed with a statue. In that moment the ranger seemed more thoroughly deranged than even the numbing potions had left her. "The Shade Lord would have conquered the entire region. She asked me to do it, she begged me to!"

The statue stared blankly, cold and unresponsive. In her unhinged state, Arowan took it as a personal insult.

"I didn't do it to save myself!" her throaty scream rang through the woods, though it was drowned out by the joyful chirruping of flocks of returning birds. This was true, yet deep down she had not done it to spare the local peasantry either. She had killed Mazzy to save Jaheira and Yoshimo. Her family.

Besides to her conscience it made no difference _why _she had done it. The point was that she had. She was now truly, unambiguously, a murderer. It was a line that she could never uncross.

However, Arowan had not survived as much as she had for as long as she had without possessing considerable resilience. She was the last survivor of the Candlekeep Bhaalspawn, the sole representative of twelve, and this was not only the product of fortune. Her durable and stoical personality was also a large factor in having successfully outlived her siblings. Becoming a fully-fledged murderer was more than the Ilmatari could accept, so her mind began to erect a peculiar defence.

"I can't have killed you," she said suddenly, speaking to Mazzy's body like a lawyer addressing a judge. Her own arrows jutting from the halfling's throat, heart and eye seemed to suggest differently, but the ranger pressed ahead with her case. "You were already dead."

Mazzy didn't argue. Arowan took a deep, defiant breath and continued to address the body.

"You were already dead. The shades said so. They said so!" She clawed the side of her face, tracing her nails over the grooves that already ran across her cheek. Three slash marks along her jaw that Viconia had scarred her with, what felt like a lifetime ago.

She stood there staring wide-eyed at Mazzy and clawing her scar over and over until it turned from white to red, and drops of blood began oozing from the newly opened wound. Scratching at her scar in this way was to become a habit that she would continue for the rest of her life.

"The halfling was already dead," Arowan said to herself, calming down. "I didn't murder her, she was already dead."

She kept repeating this mantra, muttering it to herself over and over. Until she heard the rest of her party, who had escaped the dungeon the same way they'd come in, crunching through the bracken behind her. Viconia's healing soon saw Yoshimo sitting up and rubbing his head, though Rasaad barely had the strength left to lift his hand and would need rest to recover.

By now she had adopted the lie so thoroughly that she really believed it herself, and so when asked what had happened she had no hesitation in saying;

"We were too late. The Shade Lord took over Mazzy, but I destroyed him before he could harm anybody else."

Anomen clapped her on the back, Jaheira nodded proudly and Yoshimo was just thoroughly relieved that it was all over. Even Viconia expressed a begrudging admiration that the ranger had saved them all single-handed.

The party settled down to rest, regaining some of the energy that they had lost to the shades, until hunger and thirst pressed them to move again. None of them were strong enough to carry the corpses of Merella and Mazzy, nor even to dig them a grave.

"Nature will reclaim them for her own," Jaheira said.

By which she meant that they would be dragged away and eaten by wild animals. Such a notion might have held some appeal for a druid. It did little to comfort Arowan.

* * *

* * *

The sun had returned to the blighted land. Wrens and finches warbled with joy at the restoration of their homes. All the world seemed so bright and fresh that they could almost put to the back of their mind the bodies they had been forced to leave behind.

Harder to ignore was the pain in their feet, for both Arowan and Yoshimo had lost their boots back in the dragon's den. Viconia saw no difficulty. Mazzy and Merella had no further use for theirs. Footwear problem solved! However, both Ilmatari had baulked at this suggestion, and now the drow's lip was curling as she watched them limping needlessly over nettles and sharp bits of bracken.

Eventually, with a sigh, Arowan told the others to walk on ahead of them for they could not keep up with their shoeless feet. They picked their way gingerly along, trying to find routes through grass and soft mud, while avoiding the worst of the brambles. It was a slow business and when they reached a stream, the thief begged to stop and soak their feet for a while. Cool water felt like heaven between their toes and it was a long time before they could bring themselves to move on.

She told him what Valygar had unwittingly revealed about the location of Kangaax. His skull was just sitting there, unprotected, beneath a pub in the docks. He had not said which pub, but there were only so many taverns in Athkatla, and Bodhi had plenty of servants to search them for her.

"You should let Bubbles and Irenicus know as soon as possible," Arowan said to him, splashing her feet in the stream idly. "I believe that Safana will have discovered Freya's missing remains by now. She'll come after me, tell the others and then we'll have a fine mess on our hands."

"Crazy lady!" retorted Yoshimo. He watched the ripples she made dance about the lily pads with dull eyes. "So keen to leap into the tiger's jaws. If this ritual fails, he will turn his attention to you. Well, your unwise wish shall be granted. Bodhi has already informed me that he wants you present for the summoning. Apparently his soul-harvesting set up is rather elaborate and he refuses to waste any more time. He wants his backup on standby in case Bubbles can't bring back Eric."

Arowan shuddered. She knew that Yoshimo had only withheld this information so as not to worry her. It wasn't as though there were a thing that either of them could do about it.

"I was supposed to drug you with these herbs he provided, then trick you into thinking you were rescuing Imoen to get you into Spellhold," Yoshimo explained. Arowan frowned.

"Why bother tricking me if I'm already drugged?" she asked. "And why do either when he could pop out of thin air and kidnap me at any time?"

"Come, my friend, you know by now that logic plays no part in that madman's operations," Yoshimo said wearily. "When does he ever choose a simple solution when an overcomplicated machination will do?"

"And we need to decide whether to tell Irenicus ahead of time that we are calling Sarevok," Arowan said.

"I think we had better," Yoshimo replied emphatically.

"If we do, there's a chance he won't agree to the plan."

"If we don't, there's a chance he'll blow us to pieces for failing to consult him."

"Good point."

Across the stream from them, a fat toad leaped from the water onto a damp rock. They watched it squatting there, while it croaked at them obnoxiously.

"There's another reason to tell them now where to find Kangaax," Arowan said after a pause. "They made Edwin help them in their fight against the first lich. What if they decide to take some of their stronger servants to fight Kangaax himself? What if they take you?"

He could hear the worry in her voice and see it in her eyes. Keeping his aching feet firmly in the water, he shuffled over so that he could hold her. The thought of him dying was making her heart race so fast that he could feel it through their clothes. Losing her frightened him as badly, so much so that he couldn't even think about it. Yoshimo imagined many possible futures awaiting them, and in almost all of them he would die or they would die together. Yet he could not bring himself to envisage a scenario where she died and he lived. He held her, breathing in the comforting honey-scent of her hair.

"Crazy lady," he murmured again, lovingly. "What possible use could I be against Kangaax?"

Arowan pulled away abruptly and looked at him seriously.

"Cannon fodder!"

Yoshimo grimaced. He had not considered that. Yes, now that he stopped to think about it, of course they would take some of their servants to absorb the Demi-Lich's first wave of spells. They had a great many to choose from, of course, but he was as likely to be volunteered as anybody else in their service.

"Which is why, when we get back to the village, the first thing we should do is write to Bubbles," she said quickly. It had to be Bubbles. She was the only one out of her, Bodhi and Irenicus who could be relied upon not to eat or maim the innocent messenger. "Tell her where they can find Kangaax's skull, and that our party are going to the temple of the Twofold Trust. Before they can send a reply, we'll set out at once to find Rasaad's heretics!"

"You still mean to waste time helping Rasaad with _that_?" Yoshimo looked bemused. "It could take days! We don't even know where the heretics' temple is!"

"Nobody does," she replied with a half-smile. "That's the point. I'm sure Irenicus _could _locate it if he put his mind to it, but that would take more time than it's worth. If they can't find you fast enough, they'll have to use someone else, and Rasaad's stupid quest is a plausible excuse to be unavailable."

"Yes," agreed Yoshimo hesitantly. Then he took her hand and said more firmly, "Yes. I have long dreaded what is to come, but perhaps it is best to get it out of the way. Tell me, have you given any thought to what we will do once this is over?"

"No," replied Arowan honestly. She'd had some vague notion of returning to her ranger post in the Cloud Peaks, but after meeting Irenicus she was not sure that they would be as keen on having her as before. The mountain villages had enough problems without their own ranger proving a magnet for evil sorcerers.

"Perhaps you might like to travel a little?" the thief suggested. For some reason he sounded nervous. "See the world?"

"Yoshi, when do we ever do anything _but _travel?" she laughed.

Yoshimo went rather quiet at this, and stayed so as they continued on. She looked at him sideways now and then while they walked. His moustache kept twitching and he seemed to be grimacing a lot. Although that might be because his toes were starting to resemble cauliflower stalks and a large blister on his heel had exploded painfully.

All at once they found themselves enveloped in what, at first, the ranger mistook for a very small blizzard.

"Blossom!" Yoshimo cried suddenly, brightening.

Arowan looked up from her feet, which had brushed some suspect leaves and were swelling alarmingly. She found herself in the midst of a snowfall of white petals, tumbling from a nearby tree. Yoshimo caught a few in his hands, rubbing the delicate blooms between his thumb and forefinger.

"These trees are common in my home town," he told her. "I would not have expected to come across one in this region, nor blooming so late in the year."

"The Shade Lord's curse must have paused the seasons," the ranger observed.

"This is a good omen my friend," Yoshimo said happily.

He stroked Arowan's coffee brown hair, which like his own was peppered with the stuff. She had a half-hearted go at brushing it away, but it clung on determinedly all the way back to the village.

* * *

* * *

The pair stopped briefly at Valygar's cabin. Arowan felt that the least he could do after trying to throw her over a cliff was to lend them some boots. She was pleased to discover that Colette was already there. So, to her surprise, was her father Jermien. It turned out that Colette had been on her way to see him with a 'welcome to the neighbourhood' basket of cakes, when she stumbled into her father's escaped golem halfway up the cliff path.

"It was simply _awful!_" she gushed, though she seemed very happy for a woman who'd just brushed with death. "It was lurching and spinning so fast. I was sure it was going to knock me over the edge the way it was flailing about. Then Valygar here came running down from his cabin and drove it off with his spear, and it's lying in pieces down on the rocks now."

She paused smiling, waiting for her hero to say something. Valygar, whose head was buried in a closet looking for spare boots, merely grunted in acknowledgement and looked surly.

"I was shaking all over, so he invited me in for a cup of tea," Colette smiled, "And then there was a banging on the door. You'll never guess who it was. It was father!"

"It was me!" confirmed Jermien cheerfully, spilling some of his tea. Valygar noted the longing look Yoshimo was giving it and put the kettle on silently.

"When I didn't come home on time he thought I'd run off to Baldur's Gate with Eldoth. As if I would! So he came looking for me," Colette trilled. "He was so mad!"

"As you may have guessed, it almost ended very badly," Valygar said grimly, pouring hot water over two cups of leaves for his latest guests. "A Cowled Wizard trying to break down my door... You can imagine how I responded."

"I don't need to imagine," scowled Arowan. She had first-hand experience of her fellow ranger's treatment of trespassers.

"I paralysed him," Jermien said, grinning proudly with his blackened teeth. "I was just about to jab him with one of his own spears, when my Colette starts bawling her eyes out. And I thought to myself; '_This man might be a miserable, violent son of a bitch not to mention a wanted criminal. But you know what? At least he isn't Eldoth_!' So I let him go."

"Eldoth left all of the papers he used to fake his identity," Colette smiled, "So we gave them to Valygar. He's going to stay in Umar and be Daar now."

"Congratulations?" Yoshimo hazarded.

"Never liked cities much anyway," muttered the other ranger.

They drank their tea, and left the house feeling somewhat refreshed. Colette linked arms with Valygar, led him to the door like a St Bernard on a leash and waved them off as though she were already the mistress of the house. The Ilmatari got the impression that she was quite determined to be, and it didn't appear as though the man she'd set her sights on had the will to resist. What he did have was very large feet. His shoes did not fit them particularly well, but they were better than nothing.

"That's alright. At the rate my feet are swelling, they should fit perfectly by the time we catch up with the others," Arowan sighed.

"When we reach the village we can buy you some better boots," Yoshimo said bracingly.

Arowan doubted that very much. Hers had been enchanted to protect against cold, a gift from the mayor of the village where she had briefly been ranger. On the other hand, it was summer in Athkatla and her fur-lined boots had been starting to get rather sweaty. So perhaps it was all for the best.

* * *

* * *

They arrived in the village to a rapturous welcome. Jaheira and the others had already informed them that the Shade Lord was defeated and by the time Arowan and Yoshimo got there, the people were already singing and stringing up bunting. Great barrels of ale had been rolled outside to get the celebrations going, and already people were swigging from their tankards on the steps of the fountain. Some of the local boys had managed to sneak some beer from the kegs and had climbed to the top of the henge with it, while their mothers hollered at them to come down.

A beaming, portly man came running out of the crowd to wring her hand. Puffy breeches and a dusty official waistcoat that looked as though it got little regular use had been flung onto him hastily. He coughed loudly and called to the people in a carrying voice;

"Here she is everybody! The girl who slew the Shade Lord! Three cheers; Hip! Hip!"

The hoorays were loud and good-natured. Arowan turned a little pink, but half-smiled. It felt nice to be appreciated. There was little mention of Merella who had only come into the village occasionally and none at all of Mazzy. She found her party sitting around a little wooden table in the sunshine. Anomen gave her the Charisma Ring back without her even asking for it.

"Careful with that thing, it's dangerous," he said bitterly. Jaheira had given him some cream for his intimate issue, but Arowan noticed that he was still shuffling around a lot as though dying to scratch.

She laughed, put it on, and enjoyed the most pleasant afternoon she'd had in a long time. Villagers kept coming up to thank her, a stream of free drinks flowed liberally from the bar, and when Rasaad wandered off to meditate she even found herself joking with Viconia and Yoshimo over Anomen's affliction. Knowing there was little he could do but wait for them to tire of laughing at him, he scowled and said nothing.

As soon as he could politely do so, Yoshimo slipped upstairs to write his letter to Bubbles. Jaheira watched him go with narrowed eyes. When he handed the note to the innkeeper, he was surprised to discover that a letter had already arrived for him by courier. He took it to a dark corner of the inn, read it discretely and was just shoving it into his bag when Rasaad slipped out of the shadows and snatched it from his hand.

"Return my letter please," Yoshimo demanded, making a grab for it but missing.

"Forgive me, my friend," Rasaad replied, though he was looking at the thief with pronounced mistrust. "Party leader's orders."

He strode outside, handing the letter to Jaheira. Yoshimo followed him furiously, reaching for it back. She unfolded it with a stern expression.

"Excuse me madam, but I must insist," the thief said tersely. He held out his hand, dark brows knotting angrily.

"I believe that I will read it first," Jaheira said, striking him across the back of his legs with her staff and knocking him over.

"What is the matter Yoshimo?" she taunted him sarcastically. "So secretive about your correspondence, so evasive when asked how you came to be in Athkatla and why. Anyone would think that you have something to hide."

"Stop it! What are you doing?" demanded Arowan. Her eyes were wide with fright. The letter could have come from Bodhi, Irenicus or even Firkraag now that the dragon had volunteered the pair of them as his spies. Any one of whom would earn Yoshimo a one way trip to the afterlife from the rest of her party.

She ought to have seen this coming. Jaheira had been suspicious of Yoshimo from the very outset. The ease of their escape from Irenicus's dungeon, the fact that they'd just happened to find him walking about unchained and unharmed with all his equipment on him. Now she had seen him send one secret letter and receive another. Doubtless spurred on by alcohol, the druid had decided that now was the time to finally get to the bottom of it.

"_Dear Yoshimo,"_ the druid began loudly. _"We received your letter concerning your 'friend' Arowan with great interest."_

"I knew it!" Rasaad cried, reaching to the ground and seizing the thief by the throat. "You are selling her out to Irenicus. You are betraying us all!"

Yoshimo did not want his letter read aloud, particularly not in front of Arowan herself. Normally the vast, muscular Sun Soul monk had the strength to squash Yoshimo like an insect, but he had been drained by the shadows. It made the ensuing struggle far more equal than Rasaad had expected it to be. The thief jabbed his fingers hard into the monk's armpits, forcing him to drop him, then struck him in the windpipe.

Rasaad let go coughing, only to find Yoshimo's fist connecting with his eye. He was not without allies, however. Viconia flung herself at Yoshimo from behind, like a backpack, clinging to him and making it hard to move, while Rasaad aimed a foot into his chest. It did not land with the usual force of one of his kicks, so nothing broke, but the thief still doubled over in pain.

Unfortunately this gave Arowan an excuse to act on the irrational hatred she had been nursing for Viconia. She notched a fire arrow into her bow and pulled it back. The drow felt the heat of it smouldering very close to her cheek. Red eyes swivelled to meet the ranger's own and found them as cold as the arrow was hot. Very slowly and carefully she released Yoshimo.

"She is bluffing!" Rasaad cried impatiently. Both women ignored him.

"What do you think Viconia, am I bluffing?" Arowan asked softly, and for a split second she wasn't sure herself.

Suddenly Jaheira, who had buried her nose into the letter, cleared her throat loudly to get everybody's attention. Then she scanned the last paragraph and snorted with laughter.

"I owe our thief an apology. It seems that he is guilty of no greater crime than not changing his underwear frequently enough," she chuckled tipsily. "Here, take your letter back."

She held it out, but before Yoshimo could reclaim it, the slip of parchment was intercepted by Anomen's gauntlet.

"No, no. Our thief has spent the afternoon making merry at _my _misfortune. It is only fair that he should provide his share of the entertainment," the cleric declared. "Let us see what is so embarrassing about this letter that he would engage in fisticuffs with a monk just to avoid having it read! _'Dear Yoshimo.' _Great heavens, it's from his parents!"

"…_received your letter… Arowan… _ah yes, here we go: _'It comes as a great relief to hear that you are finally settling down. Even if, at this rate, you will become a father at the same age we first became grandparents. Being, as she is, a nice Ilmatari girl, we are sure that most of the congregation would welcome her and we look forward to meeting. That said, we hardly need remind you of the shame you brought down on us over that business with Ashuma. You be sure that this one has a ring on her finger before she comes within ten miles of the temple!'"_

"Please stop," Yoshimo groaned, hiding his face in his hands and turning scarlet. Anomen, however, had reached his limit on humiliation and was eager to pass on the baton to somebody else.

Arowan herself was staring at the letter, stunned. She was so distracted that she forgot to lower her bow. Viconia discretely slipped out of the way of the arrow's point and went to stand beside Rasaad. He too was staring at the letter, his expression unreadable.

"'_Since we are not here to do it for you; be sure to slip some gold to her cleric. Just to make sure everything is in working order.' _What in Helm's name does that mean?" Anomen read on in a falsetto voice, as he imagined Yoshimo's mother might sound. "Oh, I see: _'Remember what happened to cousin Yokino. Eight years married and not a baby in sight. His poor mother is beside herself, but it's too late now!"_

The ranger's mouth dropped open, and hung there like a dead carp.

"I apologise," Yoshimo addressed her pleadingly. "I only wrote to them to suggest that _maybe_ the two of us _might_, at some point in the distant future, _possibly_ visit Kara-Tur. On reflection, it may not have been one of my better ideas. My family can be somewhat intense."

"No kidding?" Arowan replied weakly.

"Let's see. What else have we got?" Anomen mused, perusing the letter, while the thief's ears burned. "Yoshimo has three new nephews, a niece and a baby uncle. One married cousin, one ordained sister… Huh. They don't pull their punches about which sibling they think did better do they? And… aha! Back to the meat of the letter: '_Ps. Remember what we said last time about changing your socks and washing daily. Especially your armpits and your naughty bits. It took you long enough to find a half-decent Ilmatari girl. Do not put her off by going around smelling like a damp kobold!'"_

Poor Yoshimo let out a dry sob, but Anomen felt no pity after the way they'd all been mercilessly teasing him about Safana. He handed the letter back to his companion, who snatched it and stuffed it back into his pack.

"I do have one question though," smiled Jaheira, when they had all stopped laughing. "Why ever is your Kara-Turan mother writing to you in Sword Coast common?"

"Because that is the only common she speaks," Yoshimo replied sulkily.

"There is no Kara-Turan equivalent of common?"

"There is, but she doesn't speak it," he snapped. Then he realised that this was his chance to change the subject from his underwear and Arowan's childbearing plumbing. He seized upon it gratefully. "In our sect, children are raised speaking your common instead. It was the tongue of our founder, an Ilmatari missionary. My own great-grandfather as it happens. Most of us are descended from him."

"But you must have picked up the majority language, surely?" frowned Rasaad.

"Bits and pieces," shrugged Yoshimo, taking a large gulp of ale to steady his nerves after his horrible ordeal. "But our parents tried to prevent it. We were discouraged from mixing. I can order food in a tavern, ask for directions and tell you how many siblings I have but that's about it."

"They 'discouraged mixing!?' That's the polar opposite of what Ilmatari are supposed to…" Arowan trailed off. "Yoshimo, are you trying to tell me that you grew up in a cult?"

Everybody stared at him. He pushed his long black hair behind his ears and squirmed uncomfortably in the spotlight. It was an awkward question. He had been raised never to think or speak ill of the family, and certainly not of the temple. Besides, he loved his parents. They were harmless, and sweet, albeit in a suffocating sort of way.

"It is a fine line," he said carefully. "No. I think calling it a cult might be going a bit far. But we were definitely considered weird."

"Why did you come to the Sword Coast?" Rasaad asked him curiously.

"I was looking for my sister," Yoshimo admitted, deciding it was easier to tell part of the truth than try to remember a lie. "She wanted adventure not domesticity and since she only spoke common it made sense to come here. Tamoko would not have got very far as an adventurer in Kara-Tur, unable to converse with anyone outside her own hometown. When her letters dried up, I came after her."

"Dare I ask?" Rasaad began.

"Dead."

There was an uncomfortable silence around the table, interrupted by a loud fly buzzing about their drinks. Around them the party atmosphere continued. The boys on the henge had gotten thoroughly drunk and were trying to shove one another into the fountain below.

"Forgive me for prying," Jaheira said after a while. "I should not have asked so many questions about your past. It has been a difficult time, we have been betrayed so often. Sometimes I fear I am forgetting how to trust."

"Accept my apologies also," Anomen said. He was now so deep into his cups that he was swaying slightly in his seat, but he seemed sincere all the same. "I too have lost a sister." He raised his tankard. "To Moira and Tamoko."

Their mugs clashed mid-air. In his tipsy state, Anomen slightly misjudged his aim and slopped ale over the table.

"And my brother Gamaz," Rasaad added quietly, his own tankard joining theirs.

"Valas," whispered Viconia, unexpectedly.

Half of the party were now looking at Arowan, and she knew that they were waiting for her to raise her mug to Imoen. She didn't want to. Especially now that Jaheira knew that the pink-haired girl had been the one to kill Khalid. She did not want to sully what was a heartfelt moment between the party with an insincere tribute to her 'sister.' Only then did she remember that she had more dead siblings than the rest of them put together.

"Eric and Freya," she mumbled finally, "Draxle, Thorg, Afoxe and the rest of the poor bastards."

There. They could take that to include Imoen or not, as they saw fit.

"To my husband Khalid," Jaheira said throatily.

* * *

* * *

An afternoon of drinking turned to a large dinner, evening by the fire and comfortable bed. In the morning the party were treated to a huge complimentary breakfast of eggs and bacon before being waved away to great fanfare. They were more recovered from the shades, and a few days of waiting in the woods for the secret heretic meeting would put the whole business behind them.

Though Arowan did not bring up the subject of Yoshimo's letter, she was secretly quite pleased. Not that they would marry so soon as his parents seemed to think they ought, of course. Which meant that he could not take her to meet them after all. Still, she felt a certain happiness and security that he was, perhaps, thinking along those sorts of lines.

She was happy and, with her suspicions finally allayed, Jaheira was happy for her. There was one person who was not convinced of Arowan's wellbeing, however. While the others divided the loot from their victory (hardly a dragon's hoard, but enough to replace their worn-out clothes) Rasaad limped over to her.

"It seems to me that your account of your battle with the Shade Lord left out some important details," he said, too softly for the others to hear. Arowan tensed and made no reply. "Mazzy was conscious and fighting back when we first encountered her."

"After you passed out the Shade Lord won," Arowan said hastily, telling herself that it was merely a white lie. Mazzy had already been dead by that point. She was already dead. She was. Only Rasaad wouldn't understand that.

"Another point that you neglected to mention," Rasaad growled. "Is that you threw me to the shades."

"If I hadn't distracted them, they'd have knocked me out before I could defeat them all!" Arowan hissed angrily. "It was the only way to save all of us, you included. I had no choice!"

"Like you had _no choice_ but to kill Mazzy Fentan?" the monk asked.

This time the anger in his voice was gone. He sounded understanding, sympathetic even. A lump rose in her throat, but she forced it down. There was no need for this. She hadn't murdered her!

"Talk to me Arowan," Rasaad implored her. "I am worried about you. No, more than that. I have always been worried about you, but before you were walking only into physical danger. Now for the first time, I fear you are in moral danger as well."

"Save your worry for Viconia," Arowan replied poisonously.

"I still consider you my friend!" Rasaad pressed, with grossly misplaced optimism. "Just because we are not together doesn't mean that I no longer care. I am not judging you for what you had to do."

"Really? Because it sounds to me a lot like you are."

"Believe me, I understand what you are going through," the monk said vehemently. "You won't thank me for bringing this up, but I have had to carry the guilt of killing Gamaz. As with Mazzy, it was the right thing to do, but I will always have to live with the doubt that somehow he might have been saveable."

Arowan wondered if it would be terribly bad form to hit him. Now, when he was so drained by the shades that her blow might actually hurt him. What happened to Gamaz had been the main source of their conflicts throughout their ill-fated romance. Rasaad was right; she did not thank him for bringing it up.

"The others will understand," Rasaad reassured her.

"There is nothing to understand," she replied contemptuously. "I did not kill the halfling, she was already dead. Now get out of my sight."

Her brown eyes locked with his. The warmth and affection which had once glowed in them when she looked at him had been replaced by nothing but loathing and ill-will. Despite what he had hoped, they were not friends, and beneath her venomous glower he could have no doubt of it.

"My apologies," he said stiffly. "Clearly I have made a mistake."

"Think nothing of it," Arowan replied acidly.

She walked as far from Rasaad as she could for the rest of the journey, relying on Yoshimo to distract her from thoughts of Mazzy mouldering away with an arrow in her throat.


	37. Meanwhile in the Abyss

Across the Sword Coast, the temples and shrines had been unusually quiet. For months now, no cleric had collapsed without warning, gripped by a sudden vision of the Servant of all Faiths. There was a general sense of relief about this amongst the clergy. It had been happening so often that it was becoming a nuisance. Countless temple carpets had been spoiled by acolytes dropping their slop buckets and breakfast trays while lost in prophecies. More seriously, clerics had been interrupted in the middle of life saving healing rituals. A handful had even met with accidents themselves, falling from ladders or drowning in the bathtub.

It began to be said that whoever the Servant of all Faiths was, she must have fulfilled her destiny. Whatever calamity she'd been chosen to protect them from must've finally been dealt with. The storm, it seemed to them, had passed without anyone noticing.

Of course, not everybody was so easily lulled. The senior members of the paladin orders were still formally investigating the matter. While Shar and Lolth, the two deities most closely involved, had advised their followers directly that the threat was still looming.

Faerun's pessimists, mortal and divine, were soon proven correct. The Shade Lord was gone, his control of the Temple of Amaunator released at last. There were no more undead wolves to gnaw on Amauna's bones. Deep in her underground tomb, the spirit of the prophetess was free to broadcast her warnings again.

She was not selective in her choice of prophet. Up and down the Sword Coast, wherever a receptive mind was bent in prayer, the long-dead girl would possess them and start rambling.

"All of this has happened before, and all of this will happen again."

Her life may have ended in ignominy and failure, but they had not called her a prophetess for nothing. Her own unforgivable sin was destined to be repeated. Someone would succeed where she had failed, in unlocking the power of a major god. They would use that power to do what she had meant to do and destroy all the evil of the world in one fell blow.

They must be stopped. Amauna used every scrap of power remaining in her to radiate her message like a blaring psychic siren. At least the gods had listened and chosen a new champion. Perhaps, if her warnings helped, she may finally be forgiven. Whatever was left of Amaunator might be persuaded to release her from this prison of undeath. She could only hope.

"Thou must heed me, thou must prepare!"

In the halls of the Most Holy Order of the Radiant Heart, Prelate Wessalen moaned and gripped his head. Skulking in a valley at the base of the Cloud Peak mountains, Alorgoth the Doombringer had to be caught by one of his followers. It was starting again.

Her broadcast even echoed faintly in the depths of the Abyss, and the souls of the Bhaalspawn listened, for her message concerned them more than anybody. It was not Amauna's vanished god whose existence was in peril this time, but they themselves. One recently deceased soul paused in her mauling of another, to see the vision first-hand at last.

"I told you we needed Viconia," Sarevok moaned from the cracked and blasted ground.

How he regretted complaining that existence in the Abyss was boring! These days he would give anything to have boring back. Not that his disembodied spirit had anything to give. A vast, skinless wolf, the horror of their plane, looked down at him with harsh grey eyes. She held part of his liver in her lipless jaws, chewing it thoughtfully between her teeth like a lump of gum. They had done this many times before, but Freya never seemed to tire of the hunt, and he couldn't die again. At least not for long.

"So that's it is it? We're all gunpowder for some act of divine terrorism? One big blast of god-essence and bang! Half the poor sods up there die, and so do we?"

"Not as many as half, sister," Sarevok managed. He liked to remind Freya that they were brother and sister. Vainly, he hoped that some very dormant sense of familial loyalty might persuade her to give up bullying him. "But you seem to have grasped the general gist of it."

Freya dropped his liver, letting it flop back into his insides. It quickly reformed itself and the wound sealed, ready to be chewed on again the next time the Bitch of Baldur's Gate got bored. Which was very often down here.

She cocked her head to one side, flexing the exposed muscles of her neck in a most unpleasant way. This really wasn't necessary. Strictly speaking, the souls down here could adopt any form, though it was easier to maintain the one they were accustomed to in life. He had, from a safe distance, watched Freya's spirit try to turn back into both her handsome human body and the great golden wolf. Only she seemed unable to keep either appearance for more than a few seconds at a time. Afterward, the skinless dog would crouch on her haunches panting. Whining to herself pitifully about 'divine debt,' and that silly girl Skie Silvershield that she'd used to hang around with.

Sarevok discretely tried to edge out from under her while she was pondering Amauna's revelation. Both paws landed squarely on his chest, pinning him down. After a while, her dense, canine brain seemed to finish processing the information and she pronounced her profound verdict on the situation:

"Bugger that for a lark!"

Her assessment was simpler than Sarevok's, but their general feelings on the matter were the same. The main difference was that he did not embrace the alternative either. One day, when the last Bhaalspawn was dead, their essence would remerge. The lake that had become droplets would once more become the lake. All of their souls would blend together, and Bhaal would be reborn.

Despite having a walnut for a brain, Freya was unique amongst the Bhaalspawn in having discovered this in life. She had accepted that she and Bhaal were the same being before she'd even died, and why not? According to Bhaal's own butler Cespenar, she was the most similar of any of the children he'd met so far to the original Bhaal. She was loud and charismatic with an overbearing personality.

They had everything down here from serial killers to newborn babies, but it was clear that some of the merged personas were going to have more influence in the reborn god than others. If they were droplets being mixed together, then Freya was a great big blob of black ink. It was obvious whom the new Bhaal would most resemble when all was said and done.

Sarevok was less sure about his fate. He had yearned to become a god in his own right, but he had no desire to be dominated by Freya for all eternity. To have his own mind and soul thoroughly eclipsed by hers. Better to be a mortal.

"Hey! I see her! Here doggy, here girl!"

Freya moved her vast purple-red paw from Sarevok's chest, allowing him to get up. Her bare, bloody tail began wagging automatically and she turned her nose in the direction of the voices. He watched her entire demeanour shift from murderous hell-hound to happy puppy and cursed the universe. How was it possible that he, (he who had dedicated his life to discovering every detail of their father's legacy!) had been outdone by this stupid creature?

With a friendly bark, she bounded away from Sarevok to the souls of waving children. Bhaalspawn who had survived the Cult of Bhaal's sacrificial altars, but perished not long after. They had been petrified of the flayed wolf when she had first shown up down here. With her lidless bulging eyes, blood-sweating flanks and hellish howl, who wouldn't be? Truthfully, he had been terrified by the apparition himself. They soon learned, however, that Freya was a threat to nobody but the slayer of Gorion. Him, and those adult shades unwise enough to torment the children in her presence.

The brats had quickly discovered that not only was their new pet a fine protector, but she could give rides, play fetch and dig the best holes. In a desolate hellscape where entertainment was scarce, she'd proven a big hit. Sarevok glared at the little wretches. _He _had never harmed a hair on their heads even before Freya showed up. Yet the hellions still delighted in another game; hide and seek. He'd hide, they'd seek and then report back to the fleshless dog so that she could tear him to pieces over and over.

For her own part, Freya had always longed for a big litter of puppies. This was certainly not the way she had imagined her wish coming true, but she was not unhappy in the Abyss. Except for her outstanding debt to the Silvershields and the knowledge that Skie remained trapped in the Soultaker dagger. That fact gnawed at the proto-god day and night, though there wasn't a thing she could do about it. Yet.

Children, and her soft spot for them, had led to a very peculiar alliance. There was a pale young man who fell to the Abyss shortly after Sarevok himself. A wan, lanky wizard to whom he'd paid very little heed at first. Eric, it transpired, had also managed to get on the wrong side of Freya in life. Doubtless he would have joined Sarevok as prey for her daily sport. Yet he was one of the few adult Bhaalspawn who had been willing to tend to the hundreds of crying, miserable babies trapped with them in their accursed existence. On that basis alone, she had let him off the hook.

One day, the sickly necromancer, jiggling a sad baby in each arm, had summoned the courage to seek Freya out. Sarevok knew about this because she'd had her bloody muzzle buried in his entrails at the time. The conversation which followed had intrigued him and, for the first time since his brutal death, had given him a ray of genuine hope.

"You put your own girlfriend under a geas to bring you back? You really are disgusting," Freya snarled, ironically, since her own chops were dripping with human offal. "Why are you bothering me with this, Eric? You were frantic to stay alive at all costs. That was your whole thing if I recall."

"I was desperate to avoid the afterlife," Eric corrected her. "I thought the Abyss was eternal torture. This… this isn't nearly as bad as I imagined it would be." One of the babies began bawling in his arms, and the necromancer looked strained. "Except for these poor creatures."

He had avoided hell, but effectively the infants hadn't. Lonely, helpless babies. Unloved and uncuddled without the mental capacity to understand why this was happening to them. They were suffering the fate he had always feared; eternal torture. He and some of the other less evil Bhaalspawn did their best with them, but they were hopelessly outnumbered. The vast majority of Bhaal's offspring had perished as babies beneath his priests' cruel knives, and they were all here now.

"And we all get to be a god eventually," the hell dog added. It was not clear how exactly she spoke, and Sarevok had given up trying to work it out. She had no lips, canine vocal cords and her mouth was entirely taken up by his own femur which she was chewing like a stick. Yet she somehow succeeded in producing words.

"Yes. And that," Eric agreed. "Listen, Freya, if Bubbles succeeds in pulling me back it will be your problem too. It will delay our ascension!"

"You think a powerless courtesan is likely to succeed?" the wolf asked, unconcerned. Sarevok strove to ignore his pain and strained to listen.

"She is not powerless anymore," Eric fretted. "That ring contains all of my learning and most of my magic. Bubbles knows everything I knew about necromancy and more. I would bet my life on her succeeding. In fact, you might say that I did."

Freya dropped Sarevok, and slowly the unfortunate ghost started to reform. She padded over to Eric across the cracked red earth that separated lakes of hellish larva. The wolf placed her horrifying face very close to his. Blood-stench filled his nostrils and he winced.

"What do you want me to do precisely?" she growled.

"You are the strongest entity in this plane," Eric replied with as much bravery as he could summon. Which in his case was never very much. "When she tries to pull me out, I will fight it, but it would help if you could pull me back."

"Done," snarled Freya. "Now clear off. Sarevok and I have some catching up to do."

"Is that really necessary?" Eric flinched. He had done nastier things to less guilty people while he was alive, but only under the influence of numbing potions. Watching others suffer without them made him squeamish.

"You're trying my patience, boy," the wolf growled. "Clear off."

Eric was certainly not about to challenge her on Sarevok's behalf. He quickly made himself scarce, taking the little ones with him.

Freya turned her fearsome muzzle back to her victim. Savage grey eyes stared unblinkingly. He never troubled himself to run anymore. It was impossible for a man to outpace a wolf, and he would only be making the chase more fun for her. Better to get it over with quickly, but while she shredded his body, his mind was getting to work.

Bhaal, he knew, had sired his offspring with mothers of all races, including the immortal elves. Waiting for them all to die might take a very long time indeed. Sarevok was not game for centuries of being Freya's chew toy, until her overbearing personality engulfed him completely. Eric wasn't taking Bubbles up on her offer of restored life.

"_But I will," _Sarevok thought.


	38. Heresy

Even Lord Firkraag's intelligence network was not infallible. The red dragon had been slightly misinformed as to the date of the heretics' secret meeting. As a result, the party arrived early by one full day. They set up camp in the woods, a short distance from the abandoned amphitheatre where the gathering was to take place, and kept a discrete watch. When the heretics failed to materialize at the expected time Rasaad, predictably, became unbearable.

The monk stayed awake all night waiting, refusing to let anyone else take a turn on watch. The whole of the following morning, he paced around their camp, tugging at his clothes in frustration and striking random trees in a terrible rage, much to Jaheira's displeasure.

So difficult was he to be around, that Viconia found even Arowan's company preferable to his. When the ranger went to set her snares, the drow followed. The other woman had taught her to make rabbit-traps while they were hiding in the Windspear hills. Much to the ranger's irritation, Viconia turned out to have a bit of a talent for it. They ended the day with a fine brace of hares and a plump partridge shot down by Arowan.

Not that it did them much good, because Rasaad refused to let them cook them, in case the heretics saw their fire and didn't come. By now he had gone a very long time without sleep and was still feeling the aftereffects of the shades. His eyes were baggy, his complexion pallid and he seemed far removed from the calm paragon of monkish perfection that he aspired to be.

Viconia, whose tolerance of Rasaad hinged around what an attractive male he normally was, thought little of this new development. Her barbs toward him became so vicious that between her and Arowan, the monk began to consider leaving the party altogether and resuming his search for Alorgoth alone.

"I believe that deceitful wyrm Firkraag is wasting our time," Rasaad snapped on the evening of the second day. "In the morning let us all move on."

"Finally, my prayers have been answered!" Viconia snorted, adding; "By Shar. A real goddess who is capable of doing such things."

"Be quiet!" Anomen said, raising his hand suddenly.

"Impudent male!" the drow seethed, rearing up like a cobra. "You dare dictate to me what I may or may not say to a feeble-minded heretic?"

"I am no heretic!" snapped Rasaad.

"I notice you do not deny being feeble-minded," Viconia sneered.

"Quiet both of you! Listen!" Anomen hushed them urgently.

The party fell silent. A low chanting was coming from the abandoned amphitheatre. To most of them the words meant nothing, but both Rasaad and Viconia recognized fragments of mantras. It was a blending of the Sharran and Selunite creeds. Finally the Twofold Trust had assembled.

"Let us go," Rasaad whispered.

The amphitheatre had been lit with torches, and the air rang with heretical chanting. What shocked Rasaad and Viconia most however, were the sheer numbers who had turned up. On both sides. Sharrans and Selunites were seated in clusters along the rows, eyeing each other nervously. Arowan had never seen so many bald heads in one place. It was like the theatre was a giant egg carton. A young monk with an upturned nose sprang to his feet as they approached.

"Who goes there?" he asked nasally.

"We seek Collus Darathon…" Rasaad replied aggressively.

"…Darathon's wisdom!" Arowan finished for him hastily, wondering how she could ever have found this meathead attractive. She wracked her brain to remember the phrase Firkraag had told them to quote. "We seek light in both truth and darkness… no that wasn't it."

"We seek truth in both light and darkness," Jaheira interjected, pinching the bridge of her nose with barely disguised impatience. Sometimes it was hard for an experienced Harper agent to work with such rank amateurs. Behind her, Viconia made a noise that suggested she was summoning a spit ball.

"Aren't we all?" the young man replied sarcastically. "Do you think we're stupid? It's obvious why you're here."

"Well that was a short quest," muttered Anomen.

"A strapping young stag from the Sun Soul Order and an elf maiden of Shar?" the guard queried in a bored voice, looking from Rasaad to Viconia. "Let me guess; star-crossed lovers, two hearts beating as one, fates conspiring against you and so forth. Your respective sects were unable to accept the romance that you could barely admit to yourselves, yet the wildness of your passion would not be repressed etc. etc. Am I getting close?"

"How extraordinarily perceptive of you. Yeah, come to think of it I was right the first time," Arowan nodded. "Rasaad is definitely 'seeking to put light in darkness…'"

"Yeah, yeah, we get that all the time," the guard replied. "Sit yourselves in the back row with the half-dozen other 'forbidden lovers' who turned up already, and if you have to make out during the meeting please do so _quietly._"

Jaheira steered them firmly to the back row of the amphitheatre before the 'star-crossed lovers' had a chance to respond. It looked like it must have been quite grand once, with layers of stone benches in a semicircle around the arena. Now plants poked up from cracks in the stone and half of the seats were unusable because of a cascade of poison ivy growing down them. Those seats that remained were cramped and the party had to squeeze uncomfortably close to fit into their allotted space at the very back. Sharran and Selunite were determinedly avoiding eye contact.

"I have found an old flyer for this theatre!" Anomen declared jovially, plucking a yellowing piece of paper from the ground by his feet. "_Mother Owlbear. _I saw a most excellent production of this in the Five Flagons Theatre once. A romantic comedy starring a plucky young rogue looking for love and adventure, while trying to evade the clutches of his domineering mother."

He nudged the thief, who had fixed his eyes straight ahead with a sour expression.

"Hey Yoshimo! They wrote a play about you!" Anomen beamed, just in case the other man had missed the point.

"A crime that such a dashing hero as yourself has not been afforded the same honour," Yoshimo replied levelly. "But fear not. I hear that after the success of our impromptu street performance about the dangers of narcotics, Sir Keldorn has been eager to direct more morality plays. No doubt your experience with Safana will make for a fine cautionary tale."

Anomen kept quiet for a while after this.

All about them the chanting droned on melodically, until Yoshimo noticed a warm weight on his shoulder and realised that Arowan was falling asleep on him. He put his arm about her to steady her and kissed the top of her head. They stayed like that for the rest of the meeting; her snoring very quietly and he with a vague smile on his face, not really listening. Anomen had little interest in what the monks had to say either, but with no woman to distract him this left him little to focus on except the itching. He sat uncomfortably, wedged between Yoshimo and Jaheira, trying not to squirm too much. On the druid's other side, Sharran and Selunite had the misfortune to be sat beside each other, and both were in a foul temper.

Viconia was wearing an expression that could only be described as 'drow.' It was a haughty mix of sneer and snarl that human facial muscles would struggle to achieve. Meanwhile Rasaad had turned an ugly purple through a combination of indignation at the heretics and embarrassment at the accusation of romancing Viconia. Not least because deep down it was true, and he loathed himself for it. Unwelcome thoughts that he could suppress during the day, would not stay away when he settled into his bedroll every night. Nor, unfortunately, during long boring introductions while they were forced to sit pressed so close to each other that he could feel her every breath.

Distraction came when the meeting finally got underway and it was not a welcome one. When the leader belatedly arrived, hood drawn furtively over his eyes, Rasaad sat forward in his seat frowning. The monk gasped in horror when the stranger lowered his hood.

He was a dwarf, but it took most of them a moment to register this, because he was fully bald. Shaven headed dwarves were nothing out of the ordinary, but this one didn't even have a beard. It was not something you saw around very often. Ask your average dwarf whether he'd rather cut off his beard or his testicles, and he'd probably lose the beard. But he'd have to think about it first.

"Hammerhelm!" Rasaad breathed.

"You know this blaspheming cockroach?" Viconia asked stiffly. "What other loathsome insects did you become acquainted with in your garbage can of a monastery and are we to suffer being introduced to all of them?"

"Better I should be struck blind than see Hammerhelm's fall," Rasaad lamented.

"Better that I should be struck deaf than listen to his nonsense," Viconia replied in an angry whisper. "Or better still, that he be struck mute."

Hammerhelm raised his arms for silence and surveyed the attendees. He glowered disapprovingly at sleeping Arowan and widened his eyes in surprise to see a drow amongst the crowd. Yet when he saw Rasaad, he nodded in recognition, with a smile of greeting.

"Welcome, all of you who seek the truth where darkness meets the light. I am Hammerhelm, formerly of the Sun Soul Order. It is good to see so many of you here this evening," he cried. "A few notices before we get underway; newcomers are invited to our after-service coffee morning. I have it on good authority that Brother Kelner bakes the best cream puff pastries this side of the Sea of Swords. We also have moon cookies (dark and light chocolate) so do come along to that!"

"Moon cookies?" Viconia hissed. _"Moon cookies?"_

They were quiet, but the place was packed and, being an amphitheatre, designed for sound to carry. Some of the other initiates were starting to look around at the drow and her unlikely companion. Jaheira nudged Anomen, who in turn bumped Yoshimo like they were dominoes. She gave the two men a meaningful look and mouthed the words; 'drown them out.'

"Obviously you have heard and are curious about our supposed 'heresy,'" Hammerhelm went on. "There are those who have a vested interest in ensuring that our true goddess remain ever split in twain."

"A vested interest in the truth, you mean!" Viconia spat, unable to contain herself any longer, but her words were drowned out by Anomen and Yoshimo who both clapped loudly.

"Amen, Hammerhelm!"

"Preach it, brother!"

"Ye-es… right…" Hammerhelm said, looking a little embarrassed. "The Sun Soul and Dark Moon followers are not evil, merely misguided. Their masters have worked diligently to ensure that their eyes remain forever closed to the truth."

"Not evil? Have you ever met a Dark Moon follower?" Jaheira asked dryly. Half of the eyes in the amphitheatre, including Viconia's turned to glare at her. Those monks from the Sun Soul just smiled knowingly.

"Brothers! Sisters!" Hammerhelm cried placatingly. "I have met many who follow that false philosophy over the past few months. And I say again, they are not evil, they are just as I was. Blinded by the false dogmas of their masters. Just as my eyes were open to the truth so were theirs. So can yours be, my friend!"

"I'd sooner have my eyes cut out than have them opened to this dwarf's truth!" Viconia seethed.

"Finally, something we can both agree on," Rasaad said.

However, they were both drowned out by a fresh chorus of 'Yea, open our eyes! Truth!" from Anomen and Yoshimo. The men made surprisingly convincing zealots, but they were only copying what they knew. One came from a holy order of paladins where daily church services combined with frequent head injuries. The other hailed from an isolationist sect. Both of them were used to over-enthusiastic worshippers raising their arms to heaven and calling out above the sermons.

"And the truth is simply that there is no Shar and no Selune!" Hammerhelm declared, emboldened by their apparent support. "My friends, I stand before you in the light and shadow of the Twofold goddess. I can thank a man named Collus Darathon for that!"

"Praise him! Praise Darathon!"

"You think this is funny Anomen?" Rasaad asked, glowering. "Remember who Darathon actually is!"

"My memory is working perfectly," Anomen retorted, "It is you lovebirds who seem to have forgotten that there are six of us and sixty of them. Stop heckling!"

"I was a monk of the Sun Soul Order," Hammerhelm told them. "Collus a librarian for the Dark Moon sect. When he contacted me I thought, what common ground could we possibly share? He opened my eyes my friends, and revealed unto me the truth of the Twofold goddess. He can do the same for you."

Rasaad looked as though he'd swallowed a porcupine.

"If you would know more of the Twofold truth, if you would become a member of the Twofold Trust, then stick around after the service. Members of the Trust are here tonight to personally answer your every question. I myself will be happy to discuss the Twofold revelation with any of you. Thank you again, and as a reminder, if any of you are interested in participating in our next bake sale, Brother Kelner has the sign-up sheet."

Around them people began to stir. Most of the regulars were making a beeline for the coffee table. The party were blocking the row, and several couples were hovering waiting to get out and looking expectant. Yoshimo kissed Arowan's forehead and shook her gently awake. She yawned, stretched and looked around her with a grumpy little noise.

"Is it starting finally?" she mumbled.

"It is finished. You missed it," Yoshimo told her quietly. "But there is cake and coffee downstairs if I am not mistaken."

This seemed to revive the ranger and she made her way down, still leaning heavily on Yoshimo. Rasaad was striding purposefully over to Hammerhelm, with Viconia only a few paces behind.

"I ought to supervise them," Jaheira began, but with an aching look at Brother Kelner's cream puff pastries which did indeed look delicious.

"Go, for I shall stand in line for you," Anomen volunteered gallantly.

"You do owe me a favour," the druid agreed, with a pointed look at his potion pouch. He blushed. Any other affliction and his own healing magics could have cured it, but Helm did not approve of extra-marital activities and would not permit his followers to escape consequence free.

"My friend!" Hammerhelm cried, as Rasaad approached him. His greeting was so undisguisedly warm and friendly that it took the fire out of the younger monk's stride. The bald dwarf embraced him like a brother, leaving him feeling conflicted. "It is so good to see you here, though I must admit I am surprised. I never thought that you, of all people, would turn against Selune."

"I would never-"

"-turn against Selune," Jaheira finished for him. She was right, the monk needed supervising. "Unfortunately, merely asking questions about the Twofold Revelation has turned his own sect upon him. Just a few weeks ago he was attacked in the street by those who once called him teacher and friend."

"Yes, I heard about that." Hammerhelm looked at Rasaad sympathetically, stroking the empty air where his beard would once have been. For some monks joining the Order had come at a heavy price. "The higher ups in both false faiths would stoop to any means to silence dissenters."

"How can I… How can I find out more about the Twofold goddess?" Rasaad seemed to have difficulty forcing the words out.

"Rasaad has made himself an enemy of both the Sun Soul and Dark Moon Orders." Jaheira found herself once again interjecting for him. "He seeks refuge in service to the Twofold goddess and Collus Darathon, as we all do."

"A life in service to the goddess is not for the weak," Hammerhelm warned. "If you wish to become initiates you will be tested." He hesitated. "Rasaad, I have every confidence in your ability to surmount whatever obstacle is placed before you, but some of your friends…"

He looked over at the coffee table. The cream puffs had been reduced to a pile of crumbs. Anomen was defending the sole surviving pastry, which he was saving for Jaheira, from Arowan and Yoshimo. He was holding it as high as he could reach while the Ilmatari circled beneath it like a pair of hungry sharks.

"What sort of tests?" Jaheira asked sharply.

"Difficult tests," replied Hammerhelm bluntly. "The Twofold goddess has little use for the weak."

"In this instance, gullibility is not considered a weakness," Viconia chipped in unhelpfully. The dwarf stared at her, eyes bulging.

"Who are you, drow?" he barked, "Why are you here? I'd think you a spy, but no spy would call such attention to herself."

"She is attempting to make a joke," Rasaad replied, shooting Viconia a repressive look. "It does not come naturally to her."

"The only joke here is-"

"Forgive her please. She has yet to learn the value of silence," Rasaad said pointedly*.

"I'll silence you!" Viconia screeched, looking murderous.

She had Hammerhelm's full attention now and the guards were starting to make their way over. Her threat had been so loud and vehement that the rest of her party heard her at the food table. Even Jaheira was at a loss as to how to cover for this indiscretion.

Fortunately, Arowan had the Charisma Ring back. True-to-form Dorn's useful little gadget supplied her with inspiration.

"Viconia dear! That's not how we talk to our males on the surface, remember?" she trilled, rushing over and flashing Hammerhelm her best charisma-enhanced smile. "Sorry about that," she said to the monks, adding in a loud whisper; "It's just how drow do things, you know? Death threats to Rasaad are like her way of saying, 'I love you.'"

The drow looked as though her head might explode. Her lips curled, her perfect white teeth bared and her white eyebrows knotted into a deep "V" on her forehead. Rasaad saw her lips start to form the words of an appeal to Shar which would summon her flaming sword and declare her violent intent to everyone in sight.

Impulsively he seized hold of her and kissed her mouth before she could finish the incantation. Viconia responded with such force that it seemed likely the monk would end up with bruised lips.

"Huh." Hammerhelm said after a while. "Did not see that coming."

"I did," muttered Arowan, with an eyeroll.

Sharran and Selunite had no difficulty in convincing the onlookers that their kiss was genuine. Viconia knotted her fists into his shirt, pulling the monk against her. His muscular arms felt as good about her as she had always known they would. Rasaad's body, which he'd spent his whole life refining, was as hard as marble. A chiselled block of flawless muscle, and she wanted him, even more than she wanted to finish summoning her flaming sword and run it through his presumptuous heart. Rasaad bunched one hand in her silvery hair, forgetting for the moment that there was anyone else in the world but her. Just for a few minutes, he surrendered wholesale to lust. It felt better than anything he had ever imagined.

Nobody else knew where to look. Arowan especially. She and Jaheira edged away awkwardly, back to the coffee table where Anomen and Yoshimo were still standing. The Helmite was watching her in a concerned sort of way, while Yoshimo sipped his drink.

"Are you alright?" Anomen asked her.

"No. I am devastated," Arowan said mechanically. "My heart is extra, extra broken. Definitely. Don't let the lack of tears fool you, I expect I'll bawl my eyes out in a moment. Hey, do you know what would make me feel loads better? Some comfort food!"

"Don't listen to her Anomen!" Jaheira snapped. "She's trying to trick you into giving her my cream puff!"

"It was worth a try," Arowan sighed.

"Crafty vixen," grinned Yoshimo. "I love you so."

Her heart leapt and fluttered in her chest. It was the first time he had said so. In fact, so far as she could recall, it was the first time anyone had ever said 'I love you' to her. Turning a bit pink, she took his hand and led him away from the amphitheatre and back toward the camp.

Jaheira watched them go with a mildly amused expression. Now that those two vultures had flown, she was finally free to eat her cream puff in peace. She bit into it and immediately closed her eyes in bliss.

"Now I understand why so many people are defecting to the Twofold Trust," she moaned ecstatically. "No wonder those two bestial hyenas wanted to get their paws on mine so badly."

"Everyone seems to be pairing off," Anomen remarked wistfully. Jaheira swallowed the pastry and looked sideways at the younger man. He was handsome, indisputably, and had grown decidedly less unbearable of late. And yet…

"How are my herbs working?" she asked him. "Feeling any improvement yet?"

He reddened and did not bring the subject up again.

* * *

* * *

After what felt like a lifetime (particularly for the unfortunate onlookers who milled around uncomfortably) Rasaad and Viconia broke apart. Her ruby eyes burned into his fathomless dark gaze, and both longed for nothing more than to vanish into a glade somewhere and show each other how they really felt.

Hammerhelm coughed loudly, breaking the spell.

"Well, erm… that explains that then," he said stiffly. "I didn't want to doubt you, but I must admit lad, I was a bit suspicious before. Couldn't see you, of all people, turning your back on the Sun Soul Order. But this makes perfect sense."

His eyes roved briefly over Viconia's long legs and flawless curves. He repeated the words 'perfect sense' under his breath. The drow glared at him, her annoyance returning as quickly as it had gone.

"You should seek more than refuge with us, brother," Hammerhelm told Rasaad earnestly. "A lover who is both a Sharran and a drow? It's not just the Sun Soul Order who won't accept this. Nobody will. Except perhaps those who walk in both light and shadow. If you can prove yourselves worthy."

"You would have me renounce the Sun Soul?" Rasaad asked, in a strained voice. Half of him was horrified at what he had just done. The other half wanted her to drag him away into the shadows and…

"Your brothers in the Sun Soul have already renounced you," Hammerhelm pointed out, accurately. "And you know as well as I do that they'll never have you back. Not if they know about," he waved a hand vaguely at the drow as though not quite sure what to make of her. "_This._"

"A remarkable display of good taste on their part," Viconia retorted. "Rejecting you is perhaps the only intelligent action that the Sunny Souls have ever taken." She was once again looking at Rasaad with an expression of upmost loathing, but he didn't buy it anymore.

"I shall gladly face the tests of the Twofold," Rasaad declared, "And endure whatever awaits me, to come face to face with Collus Darathon at last."

"Your courage is an inspiration," replied Hammerhelm. It wasn't clear whether he meant Rasaad was brave for facing the ordeals or for dating Viconia. "Here is a map to the temple. When you get there, tell them 'the brightest light casts the darkest shadow.' That will gain you entry."

"Thank you," Rasaad said, taking the map. "It was good to see you again Hammerhelm."

He returned to the party and they began walking back to camp, but as soon as they were out of earshot of the monks, Viconia set upon him viciously.

"You lied to me!" she seethed. "You told me that you sought out the heretics in order to destroy them, not listen to their sermons and eat their moon cookies!"

"Cookies are a perfect symbol of the moon**," Jaheira mocked, producing a white chocolate specimen and showing it to them. There were five tucked into her bag, for though they were not as good as the cream puffs, all of Brother Kelner's baking was in a league of its own. She held it aloft. "Full moon!" Next she broke the cookie in two and gave the spare piece to Anomen. "Half-moon." Jaheira gobbled the remaining bit and finished with her mouth full. "Total eclipse!"

"You think this is funny?" Rasaad and Viconia seethed as one.

"I found it amusing my lady," Anomen said nobly.

Arowan and Yoshimo had already lit the campfire and had a kettle bubbling when the others arrived. Jaheira was mildly surprised that the two of them were up and not in one tent or the other. In fact, the Ilmatari had discussed the possibility. They'd quickly decided against it, however, for the walls of their tents were very thin. Sleeping together with Arowan's adopted mother on one side and her ex-boyfriend on the other would just be too weird.

"We'll be back in Athkatla soon enough," Yoshimo had nodded. "We can ask for rooms at the opposite end of the tavern to them."

"How about we stay in a different tavern altogether?" she'd giggled in reply.

They looked up as Viconia and Rasaad approached the camp, spitting nails at each other all the way. Jaheira and Anomen were strolling up the path between them, trying to avoid getting caught in the crossfire.

"I do not see how I deceived you!" Rasaad was fuming. "I told you openly that my intention was to infiltrate the Twofold Trust and thus far my plan is working perfectly. No thanks to you."

"Shar's teeth Rasaad! You actually intend to go through with joining these blasphemers, don't you? You said that the plan was to destroy this cult!" Viconia snarled. "We found the cult, we found the heretics and we left how many of them dead? Oh, that's right. NONE!"

"I came to reap my vengeance on Alorgoth, not murder his ignorant pawns!" Rasaad thundered. "With the map Hammerhelm gave me, he is finally within my grasp!"

"A map we ought to have stripped from Hammerhelm's bleeding body!" she retorted fiercely.

"Without the password?" snapped Rasaad. "Besides they outnumbered us ten to one!"

"We'll be even more outnumbered when we get to the temple!" Viconia raged. "Maybe we couldn't have slain all sixty heretics but at the very least we might have followed a few from the meeting and throttled them!"

"Woah, hang on a minute!" Anomen objected.

"Every time, EVERY TIME VICONIA!" Rasaad bellowed suddenly, his fists balling, "THAT I START TO HOPE YOU MIGHT BE REDEEMABLE, YOU COME OUT WITH SOMETHING LIKE THAT!"

"ENOUGH!" screamed Viconia. She turned to Jaheira and Arowan, shaking with rage. "I am through humouring the monk's foolishness. It's me or the monk! Make your choice!"

Crackling of the campfire was all that could be heard for a moment. Yoshimo began pouring the kettle and handing out mugs of hot tea. Arowan took hers, blew on it gently, then cleared her throat with an amused expression.

"Viconia," she said carefully, "The selectivity of your memory never ceases to amaze me. _I _never wanted Rasaad to come at all. It was you who insisted we bring him."

The drow's face froze. She had, in her fury, forgotten this. It was humiliating to be reminded of it now, not to mention inconvenient. Deep down, she did not want to part ways with the monk, and had been relying on the good-aligned members of the party to veto it.

"And, if you recall, I would be more than happy to see the back of both of you," Jaheira added pleasantly.

Viconia's hands trembled a little. The monk was an idiot and worse, probably a heretic. Yet her lips still burned where he had kissed her. She could not decide whether she wanted to have him or kill him. Curse the limitations of this surface world! Back home in Menzoberranzan she would have done both!

"I am tired!" she snapped suddenly. "We will discuss this in the morning!"

Then she turned heel and with a flick of her silky hair, vanished into her tent. Rasaad's head was swimming and not only because he had been thirty-six hours without sleep. He lay down alone that night replaying the memory of kissing Viconia over and over in his head. The remaining four party members looked at each other around the fire and shrugged. The heretic hunters had abandoned their tea. After a while the others stole it.

Morning came and the party ate their breakfast rolls (a sad let down after the baked treats of the night before), packed up their camp and headed for the Twofold Temple. It was situated in the Cloud Peak Mountains but at the opposite side to the villages where Arowan had once been ranger.

Contrary to her word, Viconia did not revive the subject of expelling Rasaad from the party again. Her face-saving way of backing down was to pretend that the conversation had never taken place. Not a word was said about the night before. Neither the argument nor the kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Believe it or not, this bit of the conversation is canon. Yes, Rasaad says this to Viconia and she actually lets him live. If that isn't proof that she loves him, I really don't know what is.
> 
> **Reference to a Jaffa cake ad from the 1990s. Now I want a Jaffa cake.


	39. The Tears of Selune

Love. Perhaps it was surprising given all that had happened to her in the Cloud Peaks, but there was no mistaking how Arowan looked at the mountain range. This one they were climbing was taller than the ones they had scaled before, it's snowy peak disappearing into the cloud line. Fortunately, the temple was only partway up according to Hammerhelm's map.

The moment they began to ascend her demeanour brightened. She launched into the trek with such eagerness that only Rasaad was able to keep up with her. The breeze was crisp against her cheeks and with every step the air tasted fresher and cleaner. It took a while for her to look away from the treetops and the distant snowy peak long enough to realise that she was alone with the monk. It certainly wasn't by design.

"So. We are here again," he said. A deep shadow had fallen over Rasaad's eyes. The last time he had ascended the Cloud Peak mountains it had been for the same purpose. To seek vengeance on the Dark Moon Cult for the death of his brother Gamaz. It had ended disastrously when his brother had turned out to be alive and leading the monks himself.

"A different mountain, a different time!" Arowan laughed gaily. Altitude agreed with her. "But we have lost the others. I had best carry Viconia's pack or it will take us all week to reach your temple."

"You would carry Viconia's pack?" Rasaad asked, touched by the Ilmatari's generosity.

"I think I could carry everybody's pack!" she laughed, almost skipping back down the mountain. "Don't you just feel so alive up here?"

She gambolled back down the slopes as naturally as a mountain goat. Rasaad could not quite figure out how she was doing it. Though he could keep pace with her, he was not finding it nearly so easy as she was. The Twofold had chosen a deliberately inaccessible spot for their base. It was up a treacherous path of slippery mud and loose stones. Some of it required climbing short distances. While this posed only a modest challenge for your average monk, it would be enough to keep the rank and file Sharrans out. Or at least ensure that they reached the temple too fatigued to battle.

"You are too kind. I fear that it will not be appreciated," he said regretfully. "I should be the one to carry Viconia's pack."

Arowan paused, looked back at him and said light-heartedly; "I fear you will not be able to. You will have your hands full with a heavier load."

"What is that?" he puzzled.

"Viconia herself of course! You'll have to carry her. Have you completely forgotten what hiking with her was like last time? Those mountains weren't a third of the size!" the ranger reminded him. "Just be grateful we don't have Xan with us anymore. We'd have to take an elf each."

"Nobody ever seems to mention Xan. Do you not find that odd? We travelled together for so long," Rasaad mused.

The ranger was only semi-listening. They reached one of the sheer rock faces which was a good twenty foot above the next level. He was just deciding whether to climb or risk sliding down a point of shallower incline, when she ran past him and jumped into the branches of a tree growing up the side. She paused there for a moment, enjoying her vantage point. Before her the peaks of the mountains spread out. One vast, inviting wilderness.

"Did Viconia ever really care for him do you think?" the monk frowned.

"Who, Xan?" Arowan asked mildly, without looking back. "Hmm, let me think… Don't know, don't care. How about that?"

Rasaad found that he cared a great deal. He was not sure that the Sharran was capable of love, at least not as a 'surface male' would understand it. It made him wonder whether she had truly felt something for Xan rather than cultivating him as a useful ally. Was it a fair question to ask Arowan? Or was he merely a moth, drawn to Viconia's flame, and asking for impossible reassurance that he would not be burnt.

"Arowan, about the other night at the amphitheatre?"

"Unless you're about to tell me that Brother Kelner revealed unto you the most holy text of the Twofold cookbook then I say again; I don't care."

He got the impression that she really didn't. It bothered him. It also bothered him that it bothered him. Not only was he out of love, but after locking lips with Viconia, he had a horrible suspicion that Arowan was right. Perhaps he'd never truly loved her in the first place. It wasn't his fault. Until now he hadn't understood what love was. Yet he still felt guilty about it.

So why was he not happy for her? He knew he ought to be and was trying to force himself to rejoice in her contentedness. Only the apparent ease with which she had put him aside and moved on, in spite of everything they had been through together, was hard to wrap his head around. Nothing in Faerun would ever induce him to take her back but seeing her with another man felt strange and jarring. He knew that it was unreasonable, and he did not _want_ to feel that way about it.

What made it worse was that he was sure her own attitude was equally selfish. Only she was free to display her hostility openly, because she and Viconia hated each other independently of him. Whereas he had no legitimate gripe with Yoshimo. When the letter they'd taken from him had turned out to be nothing more than a note from his parents, Rasaad had been disappointed. Part of him had wanted Yoshimo to be a traitor. Because part of him did not want his former flame to be happy without him.

It was a despicable way to feel, and Rasaad resolved to change it.

"I hope that _you _do not believe that I have truly turned from Selune's light," he began.

"Still don't care."

The ranger was now leaping lightly from rock to rock to avoid the deepest swathes of slippery mud. She was not making it easy to be happy for her. Rasaad steeled himself, took a deep breath and tried civility one last time.

"When we reach the temple, we will finally confront Alorgoth," he said seriously. "You were a prisoner of the Dark Moon briefly, and have almost as much right to vengeance as I do. How best do we approach this?"

Arowan turned to him. It was rare that she met his eyes these days, but she did so now. He could tell at once that her cheeriness had not predisposed her to be any more friendly toward him. Only the form of her hostility had shifted from anger to mockery.

"Rasaad, there is more at stake here than Alorgoth!" she declared, dramatically. "We mustn't let vengeance distract us from what is really important."

"If you were thinking of finishing that sentence with the words 'Brother Kelner's bake sale,' I strongly suggest that you reconsider," the monk said, his eyes narrowing.

So Arowan said nothing and they met the rest of the party climbing up the other way. Just as the ranger had predicted, Viconia was in a poor state. She was complaining piteously every step of the way. Both about the climb itself and their reasons for being there. In the end Arowan took her pack and Anomen took Rasaad's so that he could piggyback the drow.

"You'd think she would thank him," Anomen whispered an hour later. Rasaad was breathless with the effort of hauling her up the mountain, but it seemed to him that Viconia must be even more out of puff. For she had complained so constantly that it was difficult to imagine how she found time to breathe.

"Thank him? He should be grateful that she does not have spurs, a whip and a bit to put in his mouth," Yoshimo replied.

At that moment there was a flash of lightening. A strange darkness descended about them like an eclipse of the sun. Only with a druid, a ranger and a monk obsessed with celestial movements in their party, they would have known if such an event were due. More bolts of lightening rocked threateningly in the trees. They were loud, but not loud enough to be natural thunder.

Sure enough four robed figures appeared surrounding them. In another flash the illusion of robes was dispelled to reveal four monks. Yoshimo pulled on Arowan's arm urgently and pointed to a young shaven headed woman with a crescent nose piercing.

"That is Treya!" he said, "One of the Selunites we met in Trademeet."

Immediately he drew his katana and she notched a fire arrow. These were the same monks who had visited the burial site of the best known Selunite in the Sword Coast, and erected an expensive monument over it. If Safana had talked and the secret was out that Freya's grave was empty…

"Stand aside ma'am!" the monk's leader commanded. "The Tears of Selune have no quarrel with you! We seek the heretic, Rasaad yn Bashir!"

Yoshimo and Arowan looked at each other dumbfounded. Then back at the angry monk. She had very large, piercing eyes, high cheek bones and unlike the others her face was free from tattoos. What's more, she was staring at Rasaad with an expression of wild hatred. From her fighting stance, a fight to the death appeared to be on the cards.

"Oh, well. In that case," Arowan began lowering her bow.

"Apologies for the misunderstanding my friends," Yoshimo said hastily replacing his katana. "We thought you were here about something else."

"Sorry to slow you down," added Arowan, snuffing the fire arrow and stepping out of the way.

Both Rasaad and the new monk gave them a look as if to say, _'really?' _Viconia slipped down from his back, acutely aware that she was wearing the symbols of Shar. The four monks closed in on them menacingly.

"Rasaad yn Bashir! We have found you at last!"

"Sixscar," he replied evenly.

"So, this is the one is it?" she demanded, pointing at Viconia. Her voice was shaking with suppressed emotion. "I did not believe it, not until I saw it with my own eyes. How could you betray Selune to defile yourself with a servant of Shar?"

"I have not betrayed Selune!" Rasaad cried. "These things you say, Sixscar! The Moonmaiden is _everything _to me. You know this!"

"Please monk, I beg you," Viconia groaned, "Spare us the whimpering adoration of your limp and tiresome goddess."

Arowan screwed her eyes closed and inhaled sharply. Everyone stared at her.

"Wish fulfilment!" sighed the ranger. She had been secretly dying to say something like that about Selune every time the monk brought her up for over a year. "Praise be Ilmater. Sorry, ignore me. Carry on."

"It is well known, Rasaad, that you have embraced the Dark Moon heresy!" Six Scar accused him. "You even went so far as to attack those sent from the temple to collect you."

"But he did not kill them," Jaheira said, attempting as party leader to bring some calm to the situation. Sixscar was still glaring but Treya and the other two looked doubtful. "Rasaad has not turned his back on the Sun Soul."

The woman with the crescent moon on her nose stepped forward, tentatively. It was unfortunate that the positioning of the piercing caused it to hang over the rim of her nostril. From the wrong angle it made it look as though she was in need of a tissue.

"It's true, he could have slain us but he stayed his hand. Perhaps the druid is right Sixscar," Treya ventured. "Rasaad was the best of us once."

"A sadder claim for the Sun Soul, I cannot imagine," Viconia chimed in acidly.

"If he is still truly one of us," Sixscar said, with a cruel gleam of triumph in her eye, "Then he can prove it by helping us silence this Nightsinger."

In the artificial darkness, she performed an elaborate series of spins and kicks. While very impressive, they did not serve to do any actual damage. Sixscar was more agile than Rasaad, but her strikes had more elegance than power. Viconia watched her little dance with a decidedly underwhelmed expression.

"I cannot let you do this. I beg you, do not force me to harm you," Rasaad said.

"Defending a cleric of Shar! I told you he was a traitor!" screamed Sixscar. Her fury seemed to be carrying her beyond all reason. The other monks appeared torn.

"Why are you harbouring this drow, Rasaad?" Treya asked him helplessly. "I do not want to believe that you have turned on us, but you were carrying her on your back when we got here. It is pretty damning however you look at it. I cannot see what possible explanation there could be."

"She is the Servant of all Faiths," a heavy voice replied.

It was Arowan who had spoken. Her bow was drawn back once more. No matter how much she might like to, she could not stand aside and let them pummel Viconia. Ur-Gothoz's vision for the future must never be allowed to come true. Not long ago she would have died herself before slaying a monk of the Sun Soul. Yet compared to what had happened with Mazzy Fentan, suddenly putting an arrow through Sixscar's heart did not seem so extreme. At least this woman actually had malicious intent.

"No!" one of the other monks breathed. "The Servant of all Faiths, a Sharran? A drow? That is not possible."

"It is true, I swear it," Rasaad replied.

"Treya?" Sixscar barked, "You have had a vision yourself, have you not? Could she be the one?"

"I don't know," Treya confessed. "All we saw is that the Chosen One will be a woman, who acts on the authority of all the gods, and will save us all from ruin. None of us blessed with the visions have seen her but we have felt her presence. She is not of divine heritage. That is how we knew it could not be Freya Silvershield or Caelar Argent as so many believed. It could be this drow, but why would you trust her?"

So they explained, in as much detail as they could, the evidence that all of them had witnessed since Caelar's crusade began. The statue of Cyric crushing his own priestess and the defeat of Tazok the ogre. Rasaad described how gods of all alignments had interceded to prevent the Blackguard Dorn Il-Khan from murdering her. By the time they had finished their tale, three of the monks were convinced. Sixscar, however, wasn't budging.

"I don't believe it!" she declared brazenly.

"Freya did," Jaheira said quietly. "That woman you're building a statue to back in Trademeet. She swore to protect Viconia, and her last act before being taken to her death was to free the Servant of all Faiths from their captors."

"If you were involved in Freya's death then you are triply condemned!" Sixscar cried, her voice rising hysterically. "First as a murderess, second as a drow and third as a follower of Shar! Any one alone would be enough to sentence you to death and I do so now!"

With that she split away from the others and charged at Viconia. Rasaad tackled her, looping his leg behind her knee to send her crashing down. She sprang up and tried again, and again he knocked her off her feet. They repeated this several times, for he seemed unable to bring himself to do her any real harm. Sixscar took advantage of this to keep getting up. Each time she landed a blow or two on Rasaad before she fell, wearing him down.

Anomen was hesitating, reluctant to use his sword on an unarmed woman. Though since the strength of the monks depended more on the extent of Selune's blessing than on their natural attributes, Sixscar's physical power far exceeded that of an average man. Even if she was not on a par with Rasaad. Viconia had no such scruples. Her flaming sword was readied, and eventually Sixscar won her opening. She landed a powerful series of kicks to Rasaad's chest, knocking him over, and sprang nimbly toward Viconia.

All of a sudden, there was a twang and she stopped dead. Blood splattered over the ground before her, alongside fragments of bone. Sixscar screamed in agony, and looked down to see a fire arrow emerging from her scorched kneecap. No ordinary bow could have shattered a joint so thoroughly, but the one Arowan had stolen from Corwin was more akin to a siege weapon.

"No!" Rasaad cried, but it was too late. There was a flash of fire and a horrific stench of burning pork. Viconia had fallen upon her stricken assailant with her flaming sword, impaling Sixscar from neck to gut.

Arowan screwed her eyes tight. She had known what would happen if she incapacitated the female monk. Which made it her fault, regardless of whether Viconia struck the killing blow. Yet she remained in denial, as she had with Mazzy, telling herself over and over that she was not responsible.

With Sixscar's death, the spell controlling the weather lifted, and the woods grew light once more. Somehow, this brought the other monks to their senses. Treya's companions lifted the body of Sixscar and began the slow, difficult journey home. It seemed unlikely that such a fiery internal injury could be repaired by clerics. They were taking her back for burial.

"Another of our Order fallen," Treya said solemnly. "Whatever you are seeking, Rasaad, I hope that it is worth it."

* * *

* * *

Late in the morning, their destination appeared around a bend in the path. A chunk of the mountain had been carved away to leave a plateau midway up. It was as though a god had descended from the heavens and taken a bite out of the mountain only much tidier. Cascading over the exposed rock was a waterfall, which pooled in a circular moat about the temple itself before draining over the edge.

The Twofold temple was accessible by a stone bridge stretching across the moat. It was round with the upper level slightly smaller than the lower level, giving it the appearance of a layer cake. It boasted a large landscaped garden complete with menagerie, rockery and gazebo. In the distance animals were roaring.

"Rasaad?" Arowan asked, "How long exactly has the Twofold Cult existed?"

"Nobody knows precisely. It is secretive in nature."

"Ballpark me," she said dryly.

"A few months, maybe a year," Rasaad replied. "Why?"

"Ok," she said, "So whose temple do we think this was originally?" The monk looked at her blankly, and she rolled her eyes. "Mum, I can't be bothered. You explain."

"I see what you mean," Jaheira nodded to her. "Some serious terraforming went into building this. How did they get so much marble up that mountain path? This thing was not built in a year, it has been here a for while. The cult must have taken it over from someone else."

"I smell paint," Anomen said. "Look how white the walls are. Whatever was inscribed on them before they've plastered and painted over it."

"Whoever the old owners were, they were rich," Jaheira observed. "The labour it must have taken to dig this into the mountain itself. It would take a hundred ogres decades."

"Amaunator?" Arowan suggested.

"No," Anomen shook his head. "Look, the temple is facing East. It is in full sunlight now, but after noon the sun will disappear behind the mountain and plunge it into darkness for the rest of the day. The temples of Amaunator may have been buried over time, but when they were new, they were designed to catch as much light as possible." He sighed. "So many lectures from Keldorn after we found those ruins in Athkatla. So many hours of my life that I will never claim back."

It was old then, but not so long disused that it had suffered any structural damage. It had been built by a rich and powerful faith. Who for some reason had abandoned it for the Twofold to take residence in… and the cultists had no fear of the former owners coming back.

Jaheira had a creeping suspicion that she knew whose temple this was, but there was no sense upsetting Arowan with the knowledge until she was sure.

As they approached the bridge leading over the moat they met a distressed woman striding the other way. She was in so much of a hurry that she almost bowled into them in her hurry to escape. Her eye was so swollen that she could barely see out of it and bruises covered her. Her shaven crown gave her away as a monk, but she was crying as she walked.

"Wait!" called Arowan, fearing the worst. "We can heal you."

Desperate though she was to be away, it was a long way back down the mountain with injuries like hers. The woman sat down on a rock, while Jaheira and Anomen got to work on her wounds. Seeing that she was a former Sharran, Viconia simply snarled and refused to help.

"What happened to you?" Rasaad asked.

There was judgement in his voice. Arowan shot him a filthy look. She had noticed that this woman hadn't so much as a packed lunch on her person. Hastily she was giving her one of their tents while Yoshimo put together some food and water for her. It would mean that they'd have to share their berth from now on. What a shame. Ilmatari's duty.

"I failed to prove my worth to the Twofold goddess," the woman spat back bitterly. "That's what happened to me. I endured three beatings in the Room of Pain, but the fourth broke me."

Despite being pressed, she would reveal little more. As soon as she was healed she thanked them abruptly for the healing and provisions, then fled down the mountain.

"I hope she's going to be alright," Arowan frowned after her. Then she looked ahead to the temple. "I hope _we're _going to be alright."

"I will endure the Room of Pain, or whatever else I must to bring me closer to Alorgoth," Rasaad said without hesitation.

The beaten monk they had met was not the only one fleeing the temple. Close to the bridge, a pack of wolves in equally bad shape were closing in on a spotty golden cat. From the scrambled paw prints, it appeared that they had all escaped the temple grounds together, but now the battered, hungry pack had an opportunity to eat. The cat hissed in fear and rage, flattening his ears against his head to resemble a large snake.

Jaheira summoned vines to wrap about the ankles of the wolves, allowing the jaguar time to bound away. These wolves had been starved, however, too much so to simply give up on meat. They turned their grey snouts toward the party.

The Twofold had placed a single guard on the bridge. He was not the same young man who had challenged them at the amphitheatre but he looked and sounded so similar that he might as well have been. It seemed that he had no interest in recapturing the beasts. Instead he watched on with mild interest. What was odd about this was, judging by his tattoos, he had come from a sect of Selune's followers and not Shar. Yet he seemed callously indifferent to the animal's plight and theirs.

As the enchanted vines receded and the wolves came at them, Arowan raised her bow, but found herself unable to fire. It was as though she was rewatching the last moment of Khalid's life. The largest wolf leapt at Jaheira, jaws wide, but the ranger froze, paralysed. She was as helpless to act as she had been the first time around, watching her werewolf half-sister tearing at her father's face.

She did not notice another wolf pouncing on her from the side. Fortunately, Viconia did. There was that familiar smell of singed meat, a flash of very bright light and a heavy thud as the wolf hit the ground. Arowan jolted out of her trance and turned in shock to see the drow standing beside her, flaming sword in hand.

"What is the matter with you, rivvil?" she snapped.

All around her, her party were fighting the wolves. Unlike Khalid, Jaheira was not being chewed on alive, but fending the creature off easily with her staff. The ranger smacked herself and tried to get a grip. It was not the Bitch of Baldur's Gate, it was an ordinary, common wolf. What _was _the matter with her? Arowan lifted her bow again and started picking off the remaining wolves while they were preoccupied with her party.

She still didn't feel quite right though.

"A shame we did not get that spotted lion," Viconia remarked regretfully. "It had exquisite fur. Has it gone far, do you suppose?"

"Spotted lion? It's a jaguar!" Jaheira retorted, "And unfortunately you are not the only one who thinks so. The poor beasts have been hunted for their fur almost to the point of extinction. We are not skinning this one to make you a pair of-"

"Can we _please_ stop talking about skinning things?" Arowan asked suddenly in a very shrill voice. She was looking at the dead wolves and shaking. Then without warning, she lurched sideways and vomited over the edge of the ravine.

Yoshimo caught her, and sat her down with her back to a tree trunk. He looked anxious. The three healers quickly gathered around her while Rasaad went to give the password to the guard on the bridge.

"I'm fine now. I'm fine," she kept saying. "It was just the wolves, it brought it all back. Irenicus's dungeon and the way Dad died." She stopped short and looked up at Jaheira, apologetic for bringing it up. "I'm fine," she repeated. "I'm ok. Let's get moving before the monks start asking questions."

Rasaad was waiting for them on the bridge, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on the Twofold Temple. The others eyed it with apprehension. Nobody else was as sanguine as he seemed to be about this whole "Room of Pain" business.

"Are you going to get around to thanking me at some point? For saving you from the wolf?" Viconia asked smugly.

"I don't know Viconia," replied the ranger, "Are you going to thank me for saving you from Sixscar?"

"Why should I? If you hadn't done it, one of the others would."

"I could say the same about the wolf."

"Very well," said Viconia, who loathed the idea of being indebted to Arowan. "So we are even then?"

"No, we are not even! I prevented Sixscar from striking you, and you repaid me by slaughtering her needlessly," the ranger bristled. "Tell me Viconia, have you ever considered that maybe _you're _the Great Evil? Maybe your purpose as the Servant of all Faiths is to rid the world of it by drowning yourself in that moat? I think you should try it and see."

"She wouldn't be the first person to drown in that moat," Jaheira said darkly. "Look."

The party moved to the side of the bridge and peered over into the water's depths. The ripples and bubbles from the mountain waterfall distorted their view of the bottom, but perhaps it was just as well. Grinning up at them were skeletons. Lots of them. As they moved slowly over the bridge, they realised that there must be hundreds of bodies, all picked clean by fish.

"The Twofold didn't do this," Rasaad said slowly.

"Hey, what's that?" Anomen asked, pointing. Something metal was glinting a few feet away, just below the surface of the water. Yoshimo, who was the closest person they had to an expert on mechanical contraptions, leaned over the side for a better view.

"It's a water pump," he said finally. "The mechanism for a fountain. A big one."

"That fountain would have turned red with blood after every mass sacrifice," Jaheira said, for she was sure now who this old temple must originally have belonged to. "The lake becomes the droplets, and the droplets become the lake."

"I don't understand," admitted Anomen.

"On the way to Dragonspear Castle, Freya stumbled across a former temple of Bhaal," Jaheira explained. "Like this one, it had been taken over by new tenants, but some of his legacy remained. We learned that Bhaal divested his power into hundreds of children. He is the lake, they are the droplets. The plan was to return them all to the lake by sacrificing them once the Time of Troubles had come to an end. Bhaal would then return. The metaphor became something of an obsession to them in the final years of the cult."

"Forget the rebirth of Bhaal," Rasaad said, glaring intently at the temple. "His followers may have built this place, but it is Alorgoth's cult who infest it now. Leave the dead to lie and let us deal with my brother's killer once and for all."


	40. Twofold Twins

Noon came and went. With it, the sun disappeared behind the mountain and the temple was plunged into shadow. There was still plenty of light to see by, for it was only the middle of the day, but under the shade of the peak they walked in gloom.

"I can see why the heretics like it here," Viconia scowled. "Half the time in the glare of your hateful sun, the other half bathed in shadow."

"The entrance to the temple is heavily guarded," Rasaad whispered to the party. "We'll have to find some other way in. There are steps leading to the roof. If I can hide in the shadows without being detected, I may be able to get in that way. Yoshimo, may I borrow your rope?"

"Of course, my friend," the thief said, "But…"

"Wait here!" Rasaad cut him off.

He detached himself from the group and moved purposefully toward the temple steps. They soon lost sight of his ascent, only to see his shadow moving across the lower roof moments later. It was chilly now that they were out of the sun's glare, and the party began to shiver.

"Another cult, with another stupid initiation ritual," grumbled Yoshimo. "I suppose the Unseeing Eye was worse. At least Collus Darathon isn't demanding that we pluck out our eyes."

"What's your problem?" Anomen laughed. He was in a much better mood now that his itchiness was finally subsiding. "You were raised in a cult. You should feel right at home."

"We have been through this; I was not raised in a cult!" Yoshimo snapped defensively.

"Pipe down both of you, or I'll bang your heads together!" chided Jaheira.

Brothers Kelner and Hammerhelm were meandering across the bridge behind them. They had built up a sweat climbing the mountain, but otherwise looked cheerful. As they approached they gave the party a friendly wave. Arowan and Yoshimo waved back enthusiastically.

"An unholy affront to Shar!" Viconia seethed. "These apostates should be thrown down the mountain, or chained naked to the peak that they might freeze slowly."

"And deprive the world of Faerun's best baker? Repent Viconia! Though I'll admit I'm not wild about this quest either," confessed Arowan. "The last time I trekked up a mountain with Rasaad to avenge his brother the monks locked me in a cage, shaved my head and tried to pull out my teeth. It took me this long to grow it back to a reasonable length."

"I am not shaving my head for Rasaad," said Yoshimo firmly.

"Me neither," agreed Anomen. These two men understood better than anyone his yearning to avenge his murdered sibling, but fraternity had its limits.

* * *

* * *

Rasaad splayed his fingers, creeping like a gecko across the domed roof of the upper temple. He carried the rope deftly between his teeth, though it grated on his tongue. One misstep and he risked sliding down to injury and discovery.

Time seemed to slow as he approached the centre, which dipped sharply into a skylight. It was a smooth, slippery surface to navigate, requiring his utmost skill. There was little in the way of footholds and his large hands were not well equipped to unscrew the wooden skylight pane. Worse, he discovered, there was nothing to tie his rope to. Below him, shadowy figures were moving around.

Quietly, carefully he opened the skylight enough to slip through it and hung from the top of the temple. He would need all his training now. There were long wooden beams supporting the ceiling. Stealthily, he swung himself from one to another, scarcely daring to breathe. All it would take was one monk milling about the temple floor to look up and he would be caught.

Moving like a gibbon from rafter to rafter, he eventually made it to the upper-floor balcony. It was lined with doors, presumably leading to the rooms of the monks. He dropped to all fours, so that he could not be seen from ground level and crept determinedly toward a flight of stairs leading down.

The monk pressed his back against the wall and inched downward step-by-step. His heart was in his mouth, for a single creaking step would give him away. If anyone were to come up or down the stairs now there was nowhere he could hide. When he reached the bottom, he risked the briefest of glances around the corner to spy on the Twofold heretics.

What he saw gave him a horrible shock.

"Hello Rasaad!"

"How are you doing mate?"

"Having fun?"

His own party, standing in the middle of the room, bold as brass! The Twofold monks didn't seem the least bit perturbed by their presence. Someone was even bringing them tea on a trolley!

"There you go dears!" trilled a freckled woman in late middle-age. She was clearly not a monk herself, for her brown wavy hair had not been shaved off. Rasaad gawped in disbelief as she handed out steaming cups with a good-natured smile. "The usual, Brother Kelner? Brother Hammerhelm?"

"Thank you Erowan."

The woman prepared another cup (milk, two sugars) then pushed the trolley away, humming contentedly to herself. Rasaad stepped forward, in utter confusion. Jaheira gave him a sarcastic little wave.

"How did the five of you get in?" Rasaad almost howled. He could not believe that they had beaten him to it!

"We walked through the front door," Jaheira said, her lip twitching. "Hammerhelm did give us the password at the amphitheatre meeting. Had you forgotten?"

Rasaad's jaw dropped. He massaged his aching arms, and looked up at the roof supports high above them. He'd risked his life and his fingers were full of splinters, and for what? To give the party a good laugh by the looks of things.

"Why didn't you say something?" he exclaimed.

"We did try!" Anomen grinned. "But you were in too much of a hurry to listen."

"Besides, you looked like you were having such fun up there," added Yoshimo. "Doing the whole ninja monk thing with the scaling the roof and the death defying stunts! It was very exciting!"

"You… you all saw me?" Rasaad asked weakly.

"Oh yes, most impressive," Brother Kelner replied, sipping his tea. Hammerhelm nodded cordially. "May we tempt you to a hot beverage? I'd offer you one of my profiteroles but I'm afraid they were devoured within seconds of your friends' arrival."

"I do not want any profiteroles," he replied, disapprovingly. "And I hardly think that this is the time for tea. I am astounded that you have hired a tea lady! The Twofold Trust is not at all what I expected."

"We didn't exactly hire Erowan. Collus Darathon found her here when we first arrived," Hammerhelm said. He looked around conspiratorially and dropped his voice, stretching up to whisper to Rasaad. "She's an honest-to-the-goddess Bhaal cultist! All the rest of them ran off when their god died, but she stayed on here dusting and looking after the garden like nothing had happened. Don't worry though, she's harmless."

"I would like a word with her later," Jaheira said thoughtfully.

"Not a problem. You'll find her with me in the kitchen when she's not on her rounds," Kelner shrugged. "Tends to avoid the gardens these days since Collus turned them into a sparring ground. Faints at the sight of blood does Erowan.

"A bit of a drawback when you worship the Lord of Murder, wouldn't you say?" laughed Hammerhelm. "Ah, but it takes all sorts I suppose."

Rasaad looked around the temple hall. Nobody else from the amphitheatre meeting had arrived yet, but that didn't mean much. It was a tiring climb and the monk had driven them here as quickly as possible. More sensible converts were probably taking the journey in easier stages.

"Now what?" he asked impatiently.

"Now we begin the trials," Hammerhelm replied soberly. "There are four of them in total."

"I am ready!" Rasaad said at once. The dwarf threw back his beardless chin and laughed again.

"Hold your horses lad," he chuckled. "You might have been my most promising student but these trials are no bake sale. I doubt you'd even survive all of them in one go, never mind pass them. Completing one trial will gain you the status of initiate. You'll get to face the others over the coming weeks."

This was a relief and the party readily agreed. Initiates would do just fine, if it meant only facing one of the horrible trials. It wasn't like they were planning an extended stay.

"Do we get to pick which trial we do first?" asked Yoshimo, hoping to avoid the Room of Pain.

"Aye," nodded Hammerhelm. He pointed to four ornate doors leading away from the main room. All at once, his tone of voice changed and he started to go into proper priest-mode. "Four trials must thou face to prove thine worth before the Twofold goddess. You must experience pain and penance! The Blinding Sun and the Bright Moon!"

"Pick one." Arowan said dryly. Hammerhelm broke off his sermon and stared at the heckler. "You started with 'thou' and then switched to 'you' midway through your bit. You need to pick one and stick with it, otherwise it sounds wrong."

"Be silent a moment Arowan," Rasaad dismissed her. The look he received in response could have splintered teeth.

"Rasaad? Brother Kelner tells me that he is making scones later," Arowan said coolly. "Just for that, I am going to spit in yours."

"He won't eat it now you've warned him!" Viconia scoffed. "Amateur."

"He will. He won't be able to resist it," the ranger assured them. Brother Kelner looked rather touched.

"Enough!" Hammerhelm interrupted. "Choose your first trial!"

The party looked from one locked room to the next. Arowan may only have been semi-literate, but what she lacked in academics she made up for in common sense. Hammerhelm laid a dramatic emphasis on the Room of Pain, but she studied the expressions of the other monks. The ones who had already done these trials. They were looking at the Blinding Sun and the Bright Moon rooms with more trepidation than the Room of Pain. Yet what was even more telling was that none of them would look at the Room of Penitence at all.

"Fine. I choose the Trial of Pain," Arowan sighed, reluctantly.

"Same," said Anomen. "I know how these things go."

Hammerhelm peered into Arowan's face, his large nose wobbling very close to her own.

"You do realise that you are expected to _endure_ the pain, not _be_ a pain?" the dwarf growled. "I only ask in case that influences your decision? No? Very well. HEAR YE FAITHFUL OF THE TWOFOLD! These supplicants have chosen the Trial of Pain!"

Somewhere in the temple a gong sounded ominously and one of the doors swung slowly open. Inside there were a lot of blood splatters. The walls were lined with spiky implements. Four shaven headed monks were cracking their knuckles. They looked more like hired goons than meditators in search of inner peace.

"Arowan no! What are you doing?" Yoshimo whispered frantically, grabbing her arm. "You cannot be serious!"

"We should all do this one!" she insisted. "Quick, volunteer while there's still time!"

"Mad rivvil! You saw what happened to the woman who failed!" Viconia replied, aghast.

"Yeah! She took an easily healable beating and was allowed to walk away!" Arowan whispered. "Listen, the Room of Pain is the only trial where they're being upfront about what you're getting. They haven't offered us a clue as to what's involved in the other three. That's not a good sign!"

The gong sounded a second time. It must have served as a sort of summons, for monks were progressing solemnly from their rooms upstairs and from the sparring grounds outside. They formed a circle about the room, chanting prayers to the Twofold goddess.

"Which of the hopefuls have chosen the Trial of Pain?" Hammerhelm cried, raising his hands to the heavens. They looked at him quizzically. It seemed a bizarre question given that they had stepped forward only seconds before. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling and hissed; "Your names!"

"Oh! Right. Sorry!" Arowan said. "We have. We have chosen the Trial of Pain. Arowan and Anomen Delryn."

"Arowan Delryn and Anomen Delryn!" Hammerhelm declared loudly. This, of course, was not what they had meant. They had left Arowan's surname out for the simple reason that she didn't have a proper one. Freya had adopted 'Candlekeep' for a while, but this seemed a bad time to advertise the relationship. A Bhaalspawn returning to a stolen temple of Bhaal might cause a panic.

The dwarf glanced at the pair's left hands and, seeing no wedding rings, jumped to the obvious conclusion. Same age, same hair and eye colour, his and hers matching names… Wonderful!

"Leave your weapons and equipment by the door," Hammerhelm instructed. "You won't need them where you're going. Twin recruits! You will face your trial together. Twins are sacred to the Twofold trust."

"We're not-" Arowan began.

"Supposed to be separated!" Anomen said pointedly.

"So you shall not be. Pass or fail as one," he said. "I shall await you in the Room of Pain when you are disarmed. You may want to remove any garments that you do not want dented or bloodstained."

"Thanks for the heads up," Arowan muttered.

There was an unpleasant coppery smell coming from the room, but at least they could not see any teeth scattered amongst the dried blood. Cleric and ranger began struggling off their outer layers and handing things to their companions.

"Arowan, Anomen are you two sure you want to do this?" Rasaad asked them in an urgent whisper. "There are other trials!"

Anomen nodded resolutely, his jaw set. The ranger's response was rather more heated.

"No! Absolutely not!" Arowan hissed vehemently. "I very much do not want to do this! Only the Servant of all Faiths has insisted on having you, so now I get no choice in the matter. Either I admit to hundreds of angry monks that I lied about wanting to join the Twofold Trust, or I have to get the shit beaten out of me so that you can avenge your brother. The same brother who once locked me in a cage and tortured me. Are you feeling at all guilty about this Rasaad? Hmm?"

"Yes," he admitted.

"Not nearly guilty enough!" the ranger snarled. "You were a terrible boyfriend and you make for a pain-in-the-arse ex."

"I would prefer you to choose one of the other trials," he snapped in reply. "Nobody forced you to do this one."

"Arowan is right. This will be the lesser of four evils," Anomen said grimly. "I tell you; I faced trials as a squire too. Obviously, the Order of the Radiant Heart did not go in for anything this extreme, but it was a similar sort of idea. The trial that sounded worst would always be the most benign, while those that sounded simple would have some hidden sting to them. I strongly advise that nobody pick the Trial of Penance. It sounds easy, which means it will be the worst of the four, you mark my words."

Yoshimo was distraught. As he handed the thief his shirt and breeches, Anomen noticed his hand on his katana, and whispered something in his ear. Whatever he said, it had the effect of calming him down a little, though he still looked very worried.

They entered the Room of Pain wearing only their underwear. Though in Arowan's case, being a strict Ilmatari, this covered more than the average Amnian's day clothes. Anomen had nothing but long underpants, into which he discretely stuffed his symbol of Helm. For a moment she wondered why it wasn't falling out of the legs, then realised the answer and wished she hadn't questioned it.

"Soon you will be tempted to renounce the Twofold goddess. Regardless of your suffering you must hold onto her truth," Hammerhelm said solemnly. "Do you understand?"

"We do."

The four monks stepped forward. One held their arms behind their backs while his partner bound their hands. At the top of the room was a round viewing gallery. Arowan looked up at the spectators filing in. Among them was Viconia. The drow was watching her and rubbing her hands together gleefully. Yoshimo was also there, anxiety painted over his face. Arowan tried to make him feel better by winking, and in return she thought she saw him mouth the words; 'crazy lady.'

"You have entered the Room of Pain, your only armour is the Twofold truth. Is it enough to hold and keep you through the trial that awaits?"

"Verily," Anomen replied.

"Very well. A Twofold Blessing upon you. Let us commence."

* * *

* * *

Jaheira was worried for her adopted daughter, but she had also been married to another Harper for almost a decade. She was used to being worried, and what's more, she was a pragmatist. It occurred to her that while everybody was distracted, this might be a good time to seek out Erowan.

The Bhaal cultist was in the kitchens, cleaning the oven for Brother Kelner in an untroubled sort of way. She smiled when Jaheira came in and reflexively offered her a cup of tea. To the druid's astonishment she made no attempt to conceal her involvement with the Lord of Murder, but nor did she seem particularly proud of it.

"Oh, I were born and raised in it, me," she trilled. "We had temples all over back then. I'm from Baldur's Gate originally but I were apprenticed to the temple chef up near Boareskyr, you know it?"

"I'm familiar with Boareskyr. How did you end up here?" Jaheira asked.

"We was attacked! Don't know why, we never done nowt to provoke them nor nothing. A few of us made it out with some of the wee ones but we couldn't take them back, not now the Harpers knew where we was. So we brought them here instead."

"Where you then sacrificed them?" Jaheira accused her. Again, to her surprise, Erowan made no attempt to deny this.

"Of course! Well, not personally," she admitted, "I can't stand the sight of blood, me. The fountain outside was still running red when I took my morning walk the next day and I threw up everywhere. It spoiled the begonias. The old gardener gave me a proper telling off."

"You didn't try to save them?"

"Oh yes, but it's not easy to get vomit off flowers. The acid seeps into the roots and-"

"I was referring to the children."

"Why would I do that?" Erowan asked in polite bemusement, twirling a strand of wavy dark hair. "The master wants us to end his mortal lives so that he can come back as a god. They were meant to die. That was the whole point of us having them in the first place."

"I doubt the children wanted death."

"The children _are _Bhaal," she said, as though explaining something very straightforward to a simpleton. "He knew that suffering through their short lives was the price he'd have to pay for surviving the Time of Troubles. It's horrible, but he did volunteer for it. We tried to make the nursery as fun for our Master as possible until it was time."

"So now what?" Jaheira asked dumbfounded. "You're just going to stay here and wait for your dead god to return?"

"He's not dead, silly!" laughed Erowan. "Collecting all the little droplets is just taking a bit longer than expected, that's all. The lake will reform eventually, don't you fret."

"I wasn't worried," Jaheira assured her. "But your temple is full of Twofold followers now. Doesn't that bother you? I mean, you're making them drinks for crying out loud!"

"Bother me? No dear, not in the slightest. In time the last of the droplets will fall to the lake. Our master will return and rain down his fiery vengeance unto the infidels. Yea, until the mountain does run red with their heathen blood!" Erowan replied cheerfully. "But there's no reason they can't enjoy a nice cup of tea in the meantime."

Jaheira shook her head despairingly. She had been concerned that this last follower of Bhaal was a threat who would need neutralizing. Yet there was not a shred of malice in what she was saying. The woman might have been commenting on the weather.

As she walked away, a glance back told her that Erowan was busing herself with the cleaning again. Her large backside poked out of the temple oven and she was singing to herself. A merry little ditty, though each verse detailed a different gruesome way to murder somebody.

* * *

* * *

The Room of Pain was living up to its name, although there was less blood involved than they had been expecting. Hammerhelm's monks were using fists and feet rather than any pointed implements. They wondered whether the huge red stains and nastier looking spiky objects might have been left over from when this was a Temple of Bhaal.

Still, their hands and feet were bound and the monks were strong and ruthless. It hurt enough.

"You people gave us cream puff pastries and moon cookies at the introductory meeting," Arowan scowled. "Talk about bait-and-switch!"

There was a loud, sharp smack as the monks struck her again. Arowan flopped forward, her head ringing with pain, though it subsided remarkably quickly. She looked up at Hammerhelm, who stood on a raised platform wearing a grim expression.

"Brother Kelner will bake you all the cookies you can eat, if you will only renounce the Twofold goddess," he offered.

"Damn, that is a really tempting offer," she groaned. "But no."

The monks closed in on them again, raining down another round of punches. Perhaps she had been beaten so badly that her nerves were damaged, but Arowan was surprising herself by her own endurance.

When they had met the fleeing monk on the way in, she had said that she endured three rounds and the fourth broke her. They were long past that already. Once they got into double-digits both of the victims lost count.

Every time the monks paused and Hammerhelm demanded that they renounce the Twofold. After a while it dawned on Arowan that this was not nearly so hard as she had expected. Nor was she in as much pain as she ought to be from this many blows. It wasn't exactly comfortable. Certainly not her first choice of afternoon activity. Yet bearable.

It was then that she noticed Anomen's lips moving in silent prayer every time the monks stepped away. This was why he had not wanted them separated. He was healing them both as he went along.

"What is your name?" cried Hammerhelm at long last.

"Arowan," she wheezed.

"Anomen," he croaked.

"Rejoice, twins of the Twofold Trust!" he cried. "You have successfully endured the Trial of Pain. You are true champions of shadow and light, and will make honoured additions to our ranks."

"Praise be," Arowan groaned.

The two of them limped out of the Room of Pain, leaning on each other heavily. Arowan mouthed the words 'thank you' and in return Anomen managed the ghost of a smile though his lips were swollen.

As soon as they emerged, the monks' chanting abruptly ceased and without so much as a round of applause they dispersed back to whatever they had been doing before. Arowan coughed up a palmful of frothy blood, but it was only a cut on the inside of her mouth. The Helmite's skills had offset any more serious injury.

Since he was out of healing spells it fell to Viconia and Jaheira to finish their recovery off. Yoshimo was fussing terribly, annoyed with himself for letting her go, but he was not to be allowed to remain by her side for long. Non-initiates were not permitted to remain in the temple overnight and the beatings had taken a long time. The others must each complete a trial before sundown.

"Rasaad? Viconia?" Arowan coughed, weakly. Sharran and Selunite crouched down either side of her. "I just want you to know…"

"Yes, Arowan?" Rasaad asked gently, taking her bloodied hand.

She looked up at him with sincere dark eyes, and then to Viconia. It seemed as though the ranger was about to give her blessing to their union. What a mature and sensible thing to do. Jaheira nodded approvingly.

"I just want you to know… that I hate both of you from the very bottom of my heart."

Jaheira sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Though she could not help smiling as she did so.

"I see." Rasaad replied tersely.

"But Rasaad, seriously," she went on, and now her tone took on some gravity. "I know you have to take on your own trial now. It might be dangerous, and after everything we've been through…"

"Yes? Arowan?"

"I hope it kills you, you bastard."

With that, beaten and exhausted, she flopped down. Even with healing, she was too achy and fatigued to move another muscle. Everything hurt.

"My 'twin' speaks for both of us," Anomen added, rubbing his own battered jaw resentfully. "Your goddesses can lick my backside. Both of them."

"You are severely concussed, my friend," the monk replied, cracking his knuckles. "So I will ignore your misjudged remark about the Moon Maiden. On this occasion."

"Even your insult, objectionable though it was, pales into insignificance," Viconia noted, "When compared with the doctrine being promoted here. To call Shar one and the same as that feeble milk maid! Come Rasaad, let us pick a trial and be done with these nauseating heretics."


	41. The Twofold Temple

"Three trials remain. The Bright Moon, the Blinding Sun and the Room of Penance. Arowan and Anomen have successfully passed their initiation into the Twofold Trust. Now the rest of you must make your choice."

"I choose the Blinding Sun!" Jaheira declared. She suspected that the 'blinding' part may be literal and whatever the task entailed, it would need to be done sightless. There were, however, no blind monks groping their way about the temple so the damage would not be permanent.

"As do I," added Yoshimo in imitation of his leader.

"You are both wrong," Viconia said haughtily. "Your surface sun is a roasting evil thing, but the moon is weak and pitiful. I do not fear the moon."

"Two takers for the Blinding Sun and one for the Bright Moon," Hammerhelm nodded seriously, like a waiter jotting down table orders. "And you, Rasaad? Which of the three trials will you endure first?"

"I will face the Room of Penance," Rasaad said quietly. "The goddess knows I have a great deal to be repentant for."

A few feet away, Anomen smacked his bruised forehead in frustration. If there was one room that he was sure none of them should pick, it was the Room of Penance. Yet it was too late. The gong sounded and they were all committed to their respective trials.

"Since we started with the Room of Pain, let us continue in order of difficulty!" Hammerhelm decided. He was addressing an emptier room. Most of the monks had gone back to their duties. Whatever the remaining trials were, it appeared that they would be less spectacular to watch than the Room of Pain. "Rasaad! You have chosen the most challenging task and will go last. For now, LET THE ORDEAL OF THE BLINDING SUN COMMENCE!"

"I told you so," Arowan sighed.

The Blinding Sun was certainly worse than the Room of Pain, but this room had no viewing gallery. When first Yoshimo and then Jaheira stumbled out moaning and clutching their faces, they revealed that this was because it was flooded with unbearably bright light.

It was completely blinding, and even closing their eyes offered no relief from the burning glare. Placing their hands over their eyes helped a little, but here came the catch. While they were shielding their eyes, creatures were released into the room to attack them. Since they never saw them, they could not say exactly what they were, but fighting back meant using their hands. Using their hands meant moving them away from their eyes.

Because of the light, this was unendurably painful for more than a few seconds at a time. The pair had to do the trial separately, but each worked out alone that they had to remove some of their clothes to make a blindfold. All the while they were beaten by their assailants so that they ended up far more pummelled than Arowan and Anomen had been in the Room of Pain. Jaheira healed them on their way out, but their eyes were still red and raw.

"I have a bright white circle in the centre of my vision," Yoshimo told Arowan. "It follows me wherever I look. Arrgh, and such a headache!"

"Come here," she said, holding out her arms, and he stumbled next to her.

Even though they were both still hurting, it was comforting to feel the warmth of the other. Yoshimo closed his aching eyes and buried his face into her hair. She smelt, as always, of earth and coffee with a hint of the honey from which she made her shampoo. Arowan felt the stubble under his chin brush her nose. It was such a little thing, but it was intimate and lovely.

"Excellent!" declared Hammerhelm. "You have learnt to appreciate the value of darkness and passed your initiation test."

"Hooray," said Jaheira crabbily.

Four of the party were now slumped against the same wall. They were bruised and aching and completely out of both healing spells and potions. All except for Viconia, who was holding a few spells back for herself. She looked at the remaining doors and swallowed. If she were incapacitated in her coming trial nobody would be able to heal her.

Moreover, Hammerhelm had said that Rasaad's was the hardest trial of all. Who would heal him?

She looked over at the monk, staunch and obstinate. His huge muscular arms were folded and his handsome face twisted into a resolute scowl. If she wanted him she would have to see it through.

Well no matter! These novice rivvil torturers had nothing on the daily horrors of the Underdark. Whatever agonies they inflicted on her, there could be no doubt that she had endured worse in her life. She heard her name being called and with a defiant sneer at Hammerhelm, she strode confidently into the trial of the Bright Moon.

Her confidence was surely misjudged. For in this room there was no pain, no torturer. Only the truth.

"What do you suppose they're doing?" Anomen whispered in the viewing gallery after half an hour had slid by. "She's just sitting there!"

The monks had placed Viconia in a chair, with her arms and legs tied, and left her there. What she could feel, but the others could not see, was a shade trapped beneath the seat. The spirit had been slowly leeching her energy for the past thirty minutes. Finally a trap door opened and the shade was wheeled away, leaving her drained and exhausted. There was no hope of casting spells now, no possible way to defend herself from whatever was coming.

A tall, slender man in plain grey robes walked into the room. They could not see his face, but he surveyed Viconia's for a long time.

"So… this is the one," he pondered. "Viconia DeVir? I have waited a long time to meet you."

"To meet _me?_" she asked, flinching as far away from him as her bonds would allow.

Suddenly Firkraag's warning seemed to ring in their ears. Alorgoth knew that Shar's favour had fallen upon another. He thought that he ought to be the Chosen of all Faiths and not Viconia. Panic rippled through the party and almost at the same time they ran for the door, only to see Brother Hammerhelm's disappearing face as it closed. A sliding of bolts and the chink of metal keys told them it had been locked from the other side.

"Kick it down!" Jaheira ordered.

Rasaad tried, kicking every part of the door he could reach, but succeeded only in tiring himself. Yoshimo scoured the surface but found that on this side of the door there were no screws to loosen nor locks to pick. Dispel magic from Anomen had no effect, and the door seemed impervious to the ravages of Jaheira's vines.

The monk returned to the viewing window and beat it savagely, trying to get out that way instead. The glass refused to yield, not to him nor anything else they tried.

"Alorgoth!" Rasaad bellowed. "Come up here and face me you coward!"

"They can't hear you," said Yoshimo. "The viewing galleries are silenced to the outside. Arowan could not hear a word I was calling to her."

Rasaad slammed both palms flat on the glass, watching helplessly. The cloaked man was watching her like a cat with a cornered mouse.

"What do you want with me?" Viconia asked, defiantly.

"The truth," the man replied. "Secrets. You have many secrets Viconia. I would know them all."

Viconia scoffed and flicked back her head. Red eyes blazed out defiantly like a pair of dying stars.

"I have already lived more than an entire human lifetime, most of those years in Menzoberranzan," she replied. "My people are legendary for our backstabbing and intrigue. What shall I tell you? That I lost count of how many surfacers I sacrificed to the Spider Queen? That I had four husbands and slaughtered them all? Or would you like to know where House DeVir hid the petty cash box?"

"What about how you came to leave the Underdark? Let us start there."

Viconia stiffened her jaw and told him. About the baby she had been unwilling to sacrifice, and Lolth's resulting wrath. Her brother's doomed attempt to defend her and the fall of House DeVir. How she fled to the surface and was rescued by a merchant caravan, in exchange for pleasing its master. Alorgoth pressed her further and, her resistance weakened by the shades, she told him more.

Rasaad already knew much of this, and about her next story. Of the farm she had tried to settle on near Beregost and how her neighbours had discovered her identity, abused her for sport and buried her alive. She had taken her revenge, but for that the Flaming Fist began hunting her down. She had been fleeing from them when she ran into Jaheira's party. Rasaad knew it, but to the others it was news.

"She never told me any of this," Jaheira said quietly.

"Me neither," Arowan said. "Perhaps she was afraid to appear weak."

But the ranger wasn't sure that it changed anything. If they looked upon Viconia with more sympathy than before, it did not alter the fact that she had killed a lot of people. The Sharran had behaved with pointless malice toward Arowan. This was despite the fact that for a very long time the Ilmatari had bent over backward to help her, ignoring the threats and the spitefulness.

"Yes, yes I believe that I am starting to get the measure of you," the robed man pondered. "How curious. I had assumed that to appease both good and evil, the gods would choose a champion who was neither. A neutral alignment if you like. Instead it appears that they have tried to have _both. _What a contradiction you are, DeVir. You will hunt your own husbands for sport and kill without remorse or pity, and yet you were prepared to lose everything for the sake of one baby who was doomed regardless. Viconia Devir. Not neutral at all but good and evil. Both."

"I am the Servant of all Faiths. Is this what you desire to hear, heretic?"

"That doesn't count as a secret, I knew that already," he replied, sounding almost bored. "I was waiting at the bottom of the mountain when your friends from the Sun Soul happened by. Treya, I believe her name was? She told me all about you. She gave me lots of secrets before the end."

"ALORGOTH!" Rasaad screamed, smashing his fists into the window. Below them, the robed man showed no signs of having heard.

"And now, DeVir, one more secret," he whispered. "You know the one I want. Nice and loud, so that your followers can hear you."

Humiliation. As a drow she was no stranger to its use as a weapon. Viconia struggled against her bonds but it was useless. The shade had sapped every ounce of strength from her and though she was uninjured, she felt as weak as a kitten. There was no other way out, no other way to pass her trial.

"I love him," she said, hanging her head in surrender. She saw no sense in fighting this. One way or another Collus Darathon meant to have it out of her. Better to say it quickly, like ripping off a bandage.

"Pardon?" the robed man asked.

"I am in love," Viconia admitted, loudly and painfully, "With Rasaad yn Bashir."

The barriers that Rasaad had been so carefully building to protect his heart came crashing down in an instant. Not only was she capable of love, but she had followed him here out of it, despite not wanting to. Now she was suffering and in peril, all because of him. He longed to pick her up, carry her down from the mountain and take her somewhere safe to protect her. Suddenly, avenging his brother didn't seem so important as it had moments ago.

"Really?" the robed interrogator asked. He seemed genuinely taken aback. "The confession I was looking for is that you have no idea what being the Servant of all Faiths means, you are unworthy to serve Shar and you are leading your followers around blind. But I will accept your answer as well. Congratulations, you have passed the trial of the Bright Moon. Farewell DeVir. I feel certain that we will see each other again… very soon."

He left the room, and Viconia left after him. Any hope Rasaad had of chasing him down was dashed, for Hammerhelm gave the man a comfortable twenty minute head start, before opening the door to the viewing gallery and letting them out.

Outside the gloom was growing darker still. A distant orange glow beyond the shadow of the mountain suggested that sunset was approaching. Viconia stood, staring outside. Her expression was one of studied unconcern, but her redder than usual eyes and puffy lips told a different story.

"Viconia, I-" Rasaad began, but he was pulled away immediately.

"Come on lad, you have to complete your trial before the sun goes down," Hammerhelm insisted. "This way to the Room of Penance."

"That man!" Rasaad spluttered. "That man was-"

"Collus Darathon?" Hammerhelm said. He spoke the name with such awe and reverence that even Rasaad could tell it would be futile to warn him. "Indeed. We were not expecting to be honoured by his presence, but he reached the temple an hour ago demanding to know whether Viconia had taken her test yet."

Rasaad thought of poor Treya and the other Sun Soul monks, carrying their leader's body off the mountain and running into Alorgoth. If the Dark Moon's reputation was anything to go by, Sixscar had been the most fortunate of the Tears of Selune to die quickly by Viconia's hand. He did not blame Treya for betraying the identity of the Servant of all Faiths. After what he had seen him do to Gamaz, he was sure that Alorgoth could make anyone tell him anything.

"Will Collus also supervise my trial?" Rasaad demanded.

"No, I will take yours," Hammerhelm said. "The process here is simple enough. To become part of the Trust, the petitioner must prove their loyalty."

"How?" Rasaad asked warily.

"You will be asked to reveal a wrongdoing. A crime against the Twofold Trust."

"With respect Hammerhelm," Rasaad said, "I have not been here long enough to have committed any wrongdoings against the Trust."

"The wrongdoing…"

Hammerhelm paused, and for the first time the dwarf appeared genuinely unsettled. A deep frown line appeared between his eyes and he stroked the ghost of his beard in thin air beneath his shaven chin.

"The wrongdoing need not be yours," Hammerhelm said. "The goddess smiles twice on those who expose her enemies."

Rasaad baulked. He wished fervently that he had listened to Arowan and opted for the Room of Pain. Which was ironic, because everyone else was wishing they'd chosen the Room of Penitence. Right now, none of the party would have any qualms whatsoever about claiming they'd seen Rasaad urinating into the temple moat and letting him take the consequences.

"I will not dishonour myself by betraying those I would call brother," Rasaad replied quietly. "I cannot do this."

There was a collective gasp. The others could not believe their ears. After what they had all just endured for him, it was inconceivable that he should throw in the towel during his own trial.

"You son of a bitch!" Arowan cried, still massaging her bruised jaw. Anomen, who did not have enough spells left to properly heal his cracked ribs was scarcely less livid. Rasaad regarded his party, all of whom were either injured or humiliated. Viconia could not even bring herself to look at him.

"I have reconsidered," he said. "Let us begin the trial."

He went into the room and the door snapped shut fast. There was no viewing gallery. Apparently Collus wanted their grassing trial to be anonymous. Presumably this was how they got the best secrets.

Back in the main temple Arowan turned to Viconia and started clapping sarcastically.

"Such gratitude for everything we've just suffered for him. Warms your heart doesn't it?" she asked acidly. "Aren't you glad you made us bring him back into the party?"

For once Viconia had nothing to say. Arowan shot a disgusted look at the door Rasaad had disappeared through.

"We can be battered to within an inch of our lives, but gods forbid he get a stain on his precious honour. '_I will not dishonour myself by betraying those I would call brother.' _To hells with this." Arowan growled angrily. "I'm done! I'm out!"

The ranger hauled herself to her feet in a row with Yoshimo and Anomen. The three had linked arms and appeared to be propping each other up. Jaheira rose to her feet too, leaning heavily on her staff.

"Come on Viconia, even you're better than this," the druid said gently.

Viconia shook her head mutely. Everyone else made their way outside into the grounds. She alone stayed to wait while the monk completed his trial. Growing up in a society where 'vulnerable' and 'corpse' were synonymous terms, the one thing she never wanted to feel was weak. Yet she did now, and not just because of the shade.

She was all alone in the temple. Everyone else was shut in one of the rooms or making the most of the grounds before the last light failed. After a while, she retreated into the safety of Shar's shadows and began to cry.

In the Underdark to advertise weakness was to invite death. So, like Arowan, when she cried she did so in complete silence. It was one of the very few things the two women had in common.

Meanwhile, Rasaad had found a sin to report. It was the most benign and minor thing he could come up with. It was also the only thing he could report, for he had only been there a few hours and had seen no genuine misdemeanours amongst the followers of the Trust. With the exception of the woman they had met coming up the mountain, who was fleeing the Room of Pain. He had a horrible suspicion that, like Treya, she had been intercepted at the foot of the mountain and put to death by Alorgoth.

"Brother Kelner offered food to supplicants before their initiation," Rasaad reported. He hoped that this would be accepted, because he was not sure what he would say if it wasn't. Anomen's blasphemy about Shar and Selune licking his rear end was next on his list, but he was hoping it would not come to that.

Fortunately, Hammerhelm unquestioningly accepted this non-confession. To Rasaad's astonishment, the monk opened the door and let him back into the temple, congratulating him on a successful initiation. His party had gone, but he caught sight of Viconia hovering beneath the stairs and walked toward her. He could not believe that he had gotten off so lightly. The hardest challenge? These heretics were insane to a man.

Behind him the gong rang out ominously.

The four bruisers who had carried out Arowan and Anomen's challenge emerged from their rooms on the upper floors. They cast their eyes smugly over the balcony, then filed downstairs to present themselves before Hammerhelm.

"Brothers," the dwarf said stiffly. "Bring Brother Kelner to the Room of Pain."

"What?" Rasaad cried, appalled. "No! He has done nothing wrong!"

"He has sinned against the Twofold, Rasaad," Hammerhelm reminded him. "You said so yourself."

Ignoring the younger monk's protests, the four hardmen strode out of the hall and in the direction of the kitchens. A delicious smell of butter and baking bread wafted into the room. Moments later they were back, hauling the petrified monk under his arms.

"Brother Kelner, your sins against the Twofold goddess have been revealed by your own brothers! How do you plead?"

"G- guilty!" Brother Kelner whimpered. "But, erm, might it please the Twofold to reveal what I am guilty of? That I might avoid repeating my misdemeanour."

"You offered sustenance to the uninitiated!" Hammerhelm condemned him, though half-heartedly so. "Take him to the Room of Pain. Seven rounds should suffice."

"No! You cannot do this!" cried Rasaad. "This is madness brother! The punishment so far outweighs the crime!"

"There are only two possible punishments for sins against the Twofold. Beating or death," declared Hammerhelm. "You will be eligible for both if you do not hold your tongue."

"Then, I beg you, release Kelner and let me confess a crime of my own," Rasaad pleaded, resolving to make something up. "Punish me instead."

"Next time you may choose that option," replied the dwarf, just a shade reproachfully. "But for now, the trial is completed. Collus Darathon teachers that you have done your brother a great service. If Kelner survives he will be strengthened in his devotion to the Twofold."

Rasaad buried his head in his hands and stumbled to Viconia, utterly defeated. They huddled together in the shadows, waiting for the inevitable screaming from the Room of Pain. Outside the window, what dim light there was vanished.

"There was a time when I preferred the night," he said desperately. "I felt the Moonmaiden watching over me. Now I do not even have that. My brother is gone, my former friends detest me. I am utterly alone."

"Pathetic, whining male!" Viconia crooned. The tone belied the words and she was petting his shaven head in a way that was as comforting as she knew how to be. "I am still here."

"Do you mean that?" he asked.

"I do. Though it makes me an even greater fool than you are," she replied cupping his face. "I will never turn against you."

"You do not know what you mean to me," he whispered, holding her silver head against his chest. "When all the world has turned on me, I can rely on you and you alone."

Rasaad pulled her closer, closing his eyes and losing himself to the feel of her mouth on his. Her breath fluttered warm and quick on his cheek.

A long agonized wail erupted from the Room of Pain. They broke apart, clinging to each other in fear. It went on and on, and when it subsided it was only to give way to Brother Kelner's sobs.

"What have I come to Viconia?" he cried desolately, "And where am I going?"

She looked up into his intense dark eyes, tracing her fingers across the dark coils of his tattoos. He had never seen her looking like this. Melancholy, unguarded and open. She smiled at him. Not her usual cruel sneer, but a sad half-smile that reached all the way to her eyes.

"None of us can know for sure where we are going," she said. "And maybe that is for the best. The gods may have put us on this path, but I did not need Lolth to tell me that they didn't do it out of kindness. I fear for the future Rasaad. I try to carry on but when I stop to think about it, the terror grips me to my core."

Rasaad nodded, and stroked a long strand of hair back from her face.

"I agree," he told her gently, "But whatever path I must walk, I can at least thank the gods that I walk alongside you. I love you Viconia, more than words can describe. I only wish I hadn't fought it for so long."

Another protracted moan rang out from the Room of Pain, and brought their conversation to an end. Rasaad could not bring himself to walk away. It was all his fault, and he owed it to the poor man to listen to it. As the minutes ticked away, Viconia stayed with him, just as she had sworn she would.


	42. Wilson

"Everything hurts," Anomen complained. Jaheira shot him a sideways look and opened her mouth to say something but he pre-empted her. "Not quite _everything. _Your herbs are working very well. Thank you Jaheira."

The cleric scratched his beard and tried to get comfortable. They were sitting outside watching the monks spar under torchlight. The Twofold did not let a little thing like nightfall get in the way of torturing each other. Outside the air was cold, but it was scarcely any warmer in the temple, and it actually felt quite good against their bruises and scorched eyes.

They were just unrolling their bedrolls (nobody felt up to putting up tents or gathering firewood) when Jaheira launched to her feet abruptly.

"Is that a _bear?_" she demanded. Yoshimo squinted but the white circle of blinding light was still obscuring his vision. Anomen and Arowan sat up reluctantly, the cleric still massaging his cracked ribs. At this rate he was in for a sleepless night, but he had to rest and recharge his spells if tomorrow was to be any better.

"Great heavens, I do believe it is," he declared.

A thousand pounds of muscle, sinew and fur was digging its long claws into the ground and moaning irritably. The monks were dragging the reluctant bear by a rope tied round his collar. It took a team of six of them to do it, and even then they only made progress when the animal stepped forward to try and swipe at them.

"They're taking it to one of the sparring rings," Arowan pointed. "Oh, no… I think they're going to fight it."

"They are NOT!" exploded Jaheira.

In the wake of Khalid's brutal death, her volatile temper had been dampened somewhat. It was good to see her back to her old self. Sun Soul and Dark Moon alike were backing away from the swinging staff and flaming rebukes of the incensed druid.

The half-elf was shorter than all of them, and the smallest of the monks must have been double her weight. Even without her injuries, any one of the muscular young athletes could have defeated her in hand to hand combat. One of them was unwise enough to try.

"You bullying cowards want to fight a bear?" Jaheira thundered. "I'll give you a bear!"

Her voice morphed from human to an animal growl and within seconds she transformed into a great brown grizzly. The monk challenging her was not put off. He performed a truly spectacular series of spins and jumps, demonstrating his elite martial skill. Unimpressed, she sent him flying into the nearest tree with one swipe of her paw.

It wasn't long before the remaining monks were scattering in panic, Jaheira chasing after them. Soon they were out of sight, though every so often a monk's squeal could be heard from beyond the rockery.

The real bear was staring wistfully after Jaheira. With a groan of effort, Arowan got to her feet and padded over. It seemed as though the creature was semi-tame. Cautiously and slowly, she approached him, unlatched the collar round his neck, then backed off hastily.

"W-i-l-s-o-n," she said, reading the name tag on the collar with difficulty. "Wile-son?"

"Wilson," Anomen corrected her. The bear was still looking ponderously in the direction Jaheira had gone. He laughed. "Forget it buddy, she's out of our league."

Whether Wilson had understood him, or whether he had figured out that Jaheira wasn't really a bear, the hefty creature shook out his biscuit coloured coat and lumbered in their direction. He seemed to be taking a peculiar interest in Yoshimo.

"What are you seeking my friend?" the thief asked, amused, as Wilson snuffed eagerly at his bag. "Biscuits? No. Water? No. Hang on, is _this _what you're after?"

The bear fished out a packet of mint-green herbs that Zaviak had given to Yoshimo at the Hidden Refuge. They had been so preoccupied that Yoshimo had almost forgotten he had them. Wilson let the pack dangle by his claw before their faces, let out a soft rawr, then dropped it onto the ground expectantly.

"What is it?" Anomen asked, suspiciously.

"This, Brother Anomen, is the solution to our having run out of healing spells!" Arowan replied, perking up considerably. "Nice find Wilson!"

"Rawwr."

"Should you be letting a bear munch on those leaves?" Anomen asked doubtfully.

"He's pretty insistent, I think it's a case of share or fight him," Yoshimo replied.

Arowan began stuffing the pipe as she had seen the thief do at the Hidden Refuge. The cleric sniffed disapprovingly. She was in far too much discomfort to care. By the time Jaheira returned, the Ilmatari had passed it back and forth between them a few times, the tell-tale smell hung in the air, and Wilson was lying on his back contentedly watching the stars.

"What in the name of Sylvanus are you doing child?" the druid demanded.

"It's medicinal," Yoshimo replied. He and Arowan both found this ridiculously funny. "For the pain."

"Anomen? You too?" Jaheira demanded. "I am disappointed. I would have expected more sensible behaviour from a cleric of Helm."

"I didn't touch it!"

"You're swaying," she observed haughtily. They were both correct. Anomen had not taken a drag himself but he had been sitting in close proximity to the fumes and was as high as a kite. He lay down with his hands behind his head dozily.

Jaheira snatched the pipe from Yoshimo's hands, but by this point both Ilmatari were too mellow to try and prevent her.

"Anyone feel like getting up?" Arowan drawled hopefully. "I could really go for some of Kelner's cookies round about now."

"How… how _are _you doing? Pain-wise?" asked Jaheira archly.

"I feel ok. That's why we did it. They're medicy… medcinial… mecidithingy!" Arowan smiled. Then she burst into giggles again.

She felt ok in other ways too. For once she was not thinking about poor Mazzy Fentan or reliving Khalid's death and the horrors of Irenicus's dungeon. It'd be easy to start doing this more often and escape into this calm problem-free world with its bright colours. Maybe too easy.

"I think this time should be the last time," she said to Yoshimo seriously. "I don't want these herbs to become my new numbing potions."

Jaheira looked doubtfully at the smoking pipe in her hand, then took a brief drag. She wrinkled her nose at it in distaste and sat down with the others.

"Hang on!" Anomen said slowly. "Weren't you berating me for that less than a minute ago?"

"I took a battering too!" Jaheira replied stuffily. "And chasing those bear baiting monks has made it worse. I'm not going to be able to sleep tonight, and if I can't sleep that means I can't replenish my spells and heal us properly in the morning."

"Good point," shrugged Anomen reaching for the pipe himself. He too had spells to refresh. He'd regret his choice very soon, but the little bit he'd inhaled from a distance had already lowered his inhibitions.

Wilson rolled onto his side and to escape the chill they moved their sleeping bags over so that they could curl up with the bear. Understandably, this strange scene attracted some curiosity from the passing monks. Before long, a semi-circle of Twofold followers were sitting in the lotus position around them, passing the pipe around. Jaheira was lecturing them, semi-coherently, about bonding with nature. Meanwhile Anomen had a herb-fuelled epiphany that Arowan really was his twin and their entire lives to date had been one long conspiracy by his father to keep them apart.

None of them noticed the shadowy figures ascending the mountain by the light of the moon.

* * *

* * *

Inside the Twofold Temple, the mood was grim. The beating was almost over, but Viconia was still drained by Alorgoth's shade monster and could offer Brother Kelner no healing.

"Don't look so down boy," Hammerhelm was comforting Rasaad. "Our brother lived through his punishment and will come out the better for it. Worthy aspirants, you have passed the test and earned your initiation into the Twofold Trust. Many more trials lie before you, but you have completed the first step. Come, I've had rooms made ready for you."

"Shall I fetch Jaheira and the others?" asked Rasaad.

"Er… no," replied the dwarf, looking suddenly awkward.

"What is it?" Rasaad frowned. "They haven't left the temple entirely have they?"

"No, it isn't that," Hammerhelm coughed. "It's just that while your friends _did_ pass their trials, it has come to my attention that they may not be the best influence on the Twofold Trust. I must consult Darathon on what to do about them."

"What do you mean?" the monk asked, turning to Viconia, who shrugged.

"They, along with half of my students, are currently sat in a ring outside the temple with a wild bear, smoking the goddess-knows-what and braiding daisy chains," the older man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "But this is about you, not them. Rejoice in your success!"

Rasaad could take no satisfaction in his so-called victory. Yes he had successfully infiltrated the cult, but it didn't matter. The capture of the Tears of Selune meant that the Dark Moon knew exactly who they were and why they were there. What was worse was that because of his actions, Alorgoth now knew who the Servant of all Faiths was. He felt an utter fool.

The monk did not have long to meditate on his failure however. The main doors opened and a monk meandered in, closely followed by Rasaad's own party. As Hammerhelm had correctly observed, all six of them were heavily out of it. However, they were also armed. Rasaad and his former mentor were immediately alert.

"What is it?" barked Hammerhelm.

"Er… hey?" the monk began, waving a bit. "There are some guys coming up the mountain under the banner of Shar. I don't think they're, like, here to chill with us, you know?"

"What?" cried Hammerhelm and Rasaad together.

"Yeah. Collus Darathon is leading them but I dunno man… there's something different about him tonight. I'm getting some seriously bad vibes."

"Collus is leading an attack against us?" The dwarf suddenly looked very lost. "No, that cannot be! Why?"

"That man is not Collus, Master," Rasaad said urgently. "He is Alorgoth the Doombringer, and unless we act very quickly, we are all going to die."

"What? I…" Hammerhelm floundered for a moment, but then seemed to pull himself together. He drew himself up to his full height (all five feet of it) and barked to the sentry monk. "How many?"

"Four strike forces under the banner of the Dark Moon! At least a dozen men each!"

"That is not too bad," Jaheira said slowly. "We should stand a fighting chance."

"We'd stand a much better chance if you hadn't intoxicated my men!" Hammerhelm thundered.

"We'd stand a much better chance if you hadn't beaten us to within an inch of our lives and let Alorgoth drain Viconia of her powers!" Jaheira snapped.

At that moment, the door to the Room of Pain swung open. Bleeding and stumbling, Brother Kelner crawled out, followed by the four monks in charge of inflicting the beatings. They were smirking in a way that Arowan did not like.

"I see we're not the only ones," the druid remarked, looking down her nose at Hammerhelm. "Has it occurred to you yet that getting you to weaken yourselves before the Dark Moon attack may have been a deliberate strategy? Constant beatings! Sparring into the night! Tell me, how many of your men are fighting fit?"

"We are!" One of the Room of Pain monks smiled at them.

They formed a line and began advancing on the group. In a move that they _had _to have practised for dramatic effect, all four of them unclipped their Twofold badges at the same time to reveal the Dark Moon symbol beneath.

"Good," muttered Anomen hefting his mace. "My 'twin,' I believe we have a score to settle with these curs."

Suddenly Rasaad yelped in pain, and spun around furiously. Arowan had shot at the nearest Dark Moon monk, but missed and grazed his shoulder. Fortunately, it was not one of her fire arrows and the scratch was only superficial.

"Sorry," she said innocently. "Accident. Must be the herbs."

Only the others were not so sure that it was the effect of Yoshimo's leaves, because Arowan immediately switched to her usual fire arrows and her next five shots were dead on target.

A combination of the pain relieving herbs and a desire to get his own back invigorated Anomen. With an appeal to Helm, he gained a temporary boon of energy and strength which he used to charge the monks, striking at them with his mace. These monks were Alorgoth's spies, better trained in espionage and torture than in direct combat. Moreover, Anomen's intoxication had added a random element to his attack style, making his movements extremely difficult to predict and fend off.

While the party fought the four Room of Pain monks, Hammerhelm strode outside to organize the Temple's defence as best he could. Viconia, who was completely sapped of all her powers, flattened herself against the wall and tried not to draw any attention.

"Most impressive Anomen, to fight with such injuries! Like a fearsome samurai of the west you are!" Yoshimo declared as the last of the spies fell. Only one was alive. He was too injured to fight, but probably wished he had died like his colleagues. This was because Brother Kelner had crawled across the floor to him and was pummelling him in the scrotum.

"It was easy," boasted Anomen with a bark of laughter. "All I had to do was imagine that each one had Rasaad's face!"

Rasaad looked uncertainly at the faces of each of his companions. It was obvious that Arowan was not alone in having lost patience with him. They were all tired, injured and facing an unwinnable battle. With the exception of Viconia, all of them were looking murderous.

"I understand that you are all angry with me," Rasaad pleaded. "I accept that my decision to come here may not have been wise."

Nobody said anything.

"I am sorry."

Yells and screams were coming from outside. Hammerhelm was hurling orders around, but there was a definite undertone of panic in his voice.

"Rasaad, this is no time for your insipid naval gazing!" Viconia snapped. "We need to find a way off this mountain."

"You would leave these people to die?" Rasaad appealed to his party.

They all, even Arowan, responded with an emphatic; "YES!"

Then the ranger's eyes fell on Brother Kelner and Jaheira thought of poor, simple Erowan busying herself in the kitchens. Together they sighed a reluctant; "No."


	43. Alorgoth

"_Oh Lord of Murder, inflame my heart with vengeance, inspire my will with blood…"_

As the battle raged loudly above her head, there was one person in the temple who was neither fighting nor panicking. In a secret annex leading off from a storeroom, Erowan was calmly reciting her evening prayers.

"_Give unto me life (ideally other people's), forgive me the mercy that I have shown unto others."_

"Your god is dead Erowan."

"I'll be with you in a moment dearie!" Erowan trilled pleasantly. "Please help yourself to a cookie, they're in the tin by the kettle."

Jaheira took in the concealed shrine. It featured several small statues of Bhaal's various twisted avatars. They were fashioned from clay and looked much less intimidating but far lumpier than the druid had imagined his manifestations to be. She suspected that the woman had sculpted them herself. There were glass pipes lining the walls, each flowing with clear water, and in the centre of the room a large mechanism of some sort.

Behind it someone had painted a mural of crimson rain falling into a lake of blood. From it rose a naked man. He cut a grim yet oddly attractive figure with black hair falling straight down behind his shoulders and a short beard. Bhaal had chiselled features and a sturdy build. The artist had not attempted to be flattering; there were scars and even a slight overhang about the middle. He looked _real._ Jaheira was sure that Erowan had not painted this one. The Lord of Murder glared out at her with stormy grey eyes.

"Is that what he looked like?" the druid asked momentarily distracted. Erowan opened one eye and looked up from her prayer:

"_Crush beneath thine heels the skulls of the meek,_

_And relieve them of their testicles._

_For mine is the dagger, and thine is the glory!_

_Forever and ever."_

"Yes indeed, a fine likeness. Isn't he handsome, the Master? I never met a man so handsome," Erowan smiled, just a shade sadly. Jaheira looked back at Bhaal. He was comfortably above average in the looks department, but she thought his follower's praise a gross exaggeration.

"Erowan, we need another way out of the temple," Jaheira said urgently. "Do you know of any secret passages or hidden exits? We have to get out of here!"

"I'm not going anywhere," the cultist said with another smile and a shake of her head. Behind her, the water in one of the pipes began to turn pink. She glanced up at it. "Oh, look. Nearly time. I don't mind it like this you know, when it's in a pipe. Just that fountain that gives me the willies."

"You don't understand!" Jaheira insisted, trying to be patient. "The Dark Moon have sent a strike force to attack us. They're fighting on the bridge as we speak."

"I can hear them, I'm not deaf," the Bhaalite replied indifferently.

"They won't spare you," the druid tried to reason with her. "They've brought tar and kindling with them. They mean to torch the temple and kill everyone in it!"

"Don't be silly dear," Erowan sighed. She got up from her knees and patted Jaheira on the head like she was some impatient toddler. "This is the Master's favourite temple. He won't let them burn it down! Looks like the water is running red now. Now which order were we supposed to turn the valves? Crikey, it's been a long time since I last did this."

"Your Master is dead!" Jaheira cried in frustration. "Bhaal cannot help us! The only thing that might save us now is an escape route; do you know of one?"

"So that the Twofold monks can get away?" she asked.

"Yes!"

"Oh no, no, no, we don't want that!" Erowan said, as though Jaheira had suggested something utterly ridiculous. "It'll be their blood that's feeding the fountain. Now where was I… oh yes… the left pipe's connected to the skull shaped valve… the bone valve's connected to pump inlet #1…"

With a roar of exasperation, Jaheira stormed away to join in the fighting, leaving the cultist alone in the torchlight, performing her ritual.

* * *

* * *

"The battle is lost, heretics! Lay down your arms and throw yourselves upon the mercy of Shar!"

It certainly looked hopeless. They had been fighting on the bridge and many had died on both sides. Their blood ran through little gutters which channelled it straight into the moat running around the temple. By some enchantment, it was staining the water a far darker crimson than that much blood ought to, but nobody noticed this in the dark.

The Twofold were losing, however. Rasaad fought on unwaveringly. He was determined to reach Alorgoth, but every time he got close more of the Doombringer's followers closed ranks to bar his way.

On the other side of the bridge, Arowan made a little mousey noise. She was hearing things, the words of a hideous petition to an evil god. What made this even creepier was the light-hearted cheeriness with which the brutal words were being spoken.

"What is wrong with you rivvil? Why did you stop shooting?" Viconia demanded.

"I felt strange," Arowan replied shakily. "It's ok, I'm ok now."

"Oh _goody. _Delighted to hear it," the shade-drained cleric smiled sarcastically. "In that case if it's not too much trouble, perhaps you could see your way clear to fighting the sadistic enemy who have come to slaughter us. You know, since I can't?"

The ranger shook her head and resumed firing. She had given up trying to attack Alorgoth himself, for he was protected by an impassable barrier of spells, but was picking off his strike force instead. One of her targets fell with a shriek into the moat.

"What was wrong with you, by the way?" Viconia asked.

"When you pray, like to Lolth or Shar," Arowan asked, taking aim at a Dark Moon sorcerer, "Do you ever hear replies? Like a voice in your head?"

"Of course. All the time," the cleric replied. "Otherwise why bother praying at all? I hear the whispers of the Nightsinger frequently, and as for Lolth, she often turned up in person. It was keeping her _away _that was the trick! Why? Has the insipid voice of Ilmater been simpering to you? If he's telling you to spare our enemies, don't listen to him!"

"No," Arowan said decidedly. Whatever she had heard it wasn't Ilmater. "And do you ever hear other people's prayers?"

"Obviously not. Only the gods hear prayers," Viconia frowned. "Have you finally lost your flimsy little mind rivvil? Rivvil? Rivvil!"

Arowan's eyes widened in terror. Her bow clattered uselessly to the ground as her arm flopped by her side. The ranger's breath came out in rapid, frightened puffs in the cold night air.

"_Sorry about the interruption Master. Let's start again shall we? Oh Lord of Murder, inflame my heart with vengeance, inspire my will with blood…"_

"What in the hells is happening?" Arowan whimpered.

Viconia did not have time to worry about her, however, for Alorgoth had spotted her and was issuing a challenge. Rasaad redoubled his efforts to reach him, but the Dark Moon strike force cut him off. The Doombringer held up his hand for silence, and most of the fighting ceased. His followers were too afraid of him to disobey and the Twofold survivors knew that they had already lost.

"Master Alorgoth, please! Hear my words!" Viconia begged. He stalked toward her, eyes glittering with malice. Everyone was backing away from her, leaving her exposed and defenceless. "Please, I am a true and loyal servant of Shar!"

"_Crush beneath thine heels the skulls of the meek…"_

"Will you SHUT UP for a minute!" screamed Arowan, picking up her fallen bow and launching arrow after arrow at Alorgoth in a reckless attempt to save the Servant of all Faiths.

The Doombringer looked directly at her and whispered a prayer to Shar. At once her courage left her. Filled with an unnatural terror, the ranger turned and fled toward the temple.

She was met by Jaheira coming the other way, who caught her in vines. Yoshimo and Anomen took advantage of the temporary calm to regroup. They stood bravely between Arowan and the Dark Moon leader, but all he had cared about was getting her out of the way. It was the Servant of all Faiths whom he had come for.

With all distractions removed, Alorgoth summoned a flaming sword. It was just like the one that Viconia often conjured into existence, only his burned with an ivory flame.

"Come then, loyal servant of Shar," Alorgoth mocked her. "Let us see which of us has truly earned Shar's favour. Call forth your blade and we shall finally finish this."

It was only a case of finally for him. Until this night, Viconia had no notion that they were even enemies, but for years he had been fostering a malign resentment of the Servant of all Faiths. Had the Chosen One been a minion of Selune or Umberlee or any of Faerun's other plethora of deities, it would not have troubled him. Only, another of Shar's servants had been selected over him, and his jealousy was tangible.

"I can't," Viconia replied between gritted teeth.

"See how she has fallen from Shar's grace!" Alorgoth cried triumphantly. "The goddess has withdrawn the use of her powers!"

"Shar did not drain my powers, you did! You put a shade under my chair!"

Rasaad was still struggling to reach them. With a cunning smile, the Doombringer signalled to his followers to let the monk come. As soon as he got to within six feet of him, there was a wave of heat and a stench of rotting flesh. Viconia screamed as a demon appeared behind Rasaad, seizing him under the arms and lifting him from the ground.

"Very well Viconia," Alorgoth whispered, tossing her a dagger. "Prove your loyalty to Shar. Strike her enemy down!"

The monk writhed against the demon ineffectively. There was fear in his dark eyes like that of a bull stepping inside an abattoir. He didn't know for certain whether he was about to die but, like the bull, he had a pretty shrewd notion. Viconia loved him, he knew, but she was still a drow. She had loved her brother too, but she had fled instead of dying to save him. It was a fair bet that she would not die to spare her lover either.

"Master Alorgoth, there is no need for this, our goddess never chose me over you! The gods were protecting me long before I fled the Underdark," she implored him. "I was not chosen as the favourite from amongst the faithful. When Lolth cast me out, Shar likely appeared to me because I was already the Servant of all Faiths!"

"No need? No need to purge the enemies of Shar?" the Doombringer seethed. "You will butcher this Selunite slab of mutton or I shall do it for you. Make your choice DeVir."

Slowly and with shaking hands, Viconia picked up the dagger that he'd thrown to her. It was a spiteful, poison-tipped little number with a blackened blade. She stepped toward the demon holding Rasaad slowly, as though cherishing every second before she had to do this. He stopped struggling against the demon clutching him, determined to die with some dignity.

"Forgive me," she whispered screwing her eyes shut.

"I do Viconia," Rasaad gulped. "I love you too."

"Cretinous male! I was talking to Shar!"

Her dagger struck the unsuspecting demon between the eyes, the power of the weapon itself compensating for her drained state. The apparition's eyes crossed, and it blinked at the blade stupidly, before dissolving to whatever hell plane it had come from.

"Your actions damn you DeVir," Alorgoth jeered. "Slay them all, in the name of Shar!"

"You cannot kill me!" Viconia warned him. "The gods will not permit it!"

"Won't they?" he purred dangerously. "Do you believe that Shar will continue to champion you over me, now that you have abandoned her for a Sun Soul monk?"

"Rasaad is with the Twofold now!" Hammerhelm interjected.

"Pitiful imbecile! There is no Twofold!" said Alorgoth, shaking his head. "I made the heresy up so that those of weak faith could be exposed and purged from the Dark Moon Order. I set my trap here to ensnare the doubters and those of hollow conviction. How I hoped that the so called 'Chosen One' would be among those who fell into it. Now all that remains is to destroy you, DeVir, and take my place as the saviour of Shar's sect!"

"None of the gods will permit it!" Viconia cried defiantly.

"Shar is more powerful than all other gods combined!"

As if in reply, the ground beneath them shook and hummed. Even Alorgoth looked aghast. There was a loud clanging and a whirring of long disused machinery, and suddenly the moat erupted. Seven fountains spluttered, squirted, then blasted the blood-tainted water hundreds of feet into the air. The monks' necks craned upward as the water continued to flow. Nothing else happened and the Dark Moon monks began to chuckle.

The moonlight and the torches were enough to see by but not enough to reveal the true colour of the water. To those on the ground the fountains only looked black. Had this happened during the day and the crimson water been properly visible, they might have taken it more seriously.

"Is that the best your gods can do?" Alorgoth's roar echoed down the mountain. "A pretty water feature?"

"_For mine is the dagger, and thine is the glory!_

_Forever and ever."_

"Make it stop!" Arowan sobbed. She was gripped by an inescapable sense that something terrible was coming. Something far worse than Alorgoth.

_"Amen."_

It began with a loud and horrible growl from the far side of the bridge. At first they thought it must be Wilson, but the bear was still following Yoshimo. Neither Alorgoth nor Jaheira's party could see what was going on, but the Dark Moon cultists at the back of the strike force were screaming.

There was a snarl, followed by tearing noises, and pandemonium broke out on the other side of the bridge. All the monks; Sharran and heretic alike, were fleeing toward them. Something huge was crossing behind them. The ground trembled with its every step.

"What do you think you are doing? I did not give you permission to flee! Whatever this witch has summoned, you will slay it for Shar you wretches!"

Alorgoth's words fell on deaf ears. Whatever was approaching, they were even more frightened of it than they were of him. The monks fled to the temple doors, only to find Erowan calmly latching them closed. None of the petrified men and women wanted to stop running long enough to unlatch it. The majority fled behind the temple and started trying to scale the mountainside behind it. A few broke off to the left and right to try their luck swimming the moat, though the fountains made the waters turbulent and less than half made it across.

Arowan guessed what had terrified them so badly before she saw it.

A vast, fleshless wolf stepped off the bridge. Spittle hung from its bared white fangs. Its flayed head swivelled around on white and red tendons, while its exposed ribs rose and fell. Where its paws touched the earth they left flaming prints which did not go out.

The Abyssal horror threw back its head and let out a cold, guttural howl. It rang down the mountain, loud and clear as a bell, chilling the watching mortals to their core.

The skinned dog from Irenicus's dungeon. Only somehow it was even more hideous than before. Larger and burning with a hellish inner fire which was visible every time it parted its jaws. Those unblinking, lidless eyes were different too. Golden and glowing; the eyes of a god.

Only two people were able to resist the powerful aura of the wolf. Erowan, who was looking more queasily at the fountains than at the apparition itself. Also Alorgoth, who was holding his ground, though his feet kept twitching like they were about to run away without him.

The dog lowered its face very close to the Doombringer and growled. Acrid smoke from its mouth billowed over him in thick, stinking tendrils. Powerful human though Alorgoth was, he was still a human. His eyes closed, for he could not meet the gaze of the divine golden glow, and his breath came out in ragged bursts.

"It's father!" Arowan whimpered, still bound by the roots and unable to run away. "Ilmater please, no, it's Bhaal."

"That's impossible," Jaheira breathed.

Rasaad was screaming incessantly and he was not the only one. Viconia, Hammerhelm and Anomen were already bolting from the monster. They unlatched the temple door and pelted through it, driven by a fear more intense than anything most of them had ever experienced. Only Viconia, in the presence of Lolth, had known god-terror before, but that did not take the bite out of it.

Arowan was trying desperately to pull her legs free of the vines, and Yoshimo rushed to aid her only to become trapped himself. Jaheira knew that she needed to lift the spell, but she found herself paralysed by dread. For the first time she truly understood why her daughter had taken numbing potions when faced with the prospect of this. That the skinned dog was the last thing that her husband ever saw was horrific beyond words.

When the Ilmatari looked up, Alorgoth had vanished without a trace. Only Jaheira saw him slink past the avatar with much prostrating, and disappear down the mountainside. The dog sat on its haunches, cocked its head to one side like a terrier and looked wistfully at the temple door.

WAS THAT VICONIA? I'D HAVE THOUGHT SHE'D BE A BIT MORE PLEASED TO SEE ME. SOD YOU TOO THEN! JACKASS!

"This cannot be happening," Arowan sobbed, shaking her head hysterically. "Oh gods, please, this cannot be happening."

The monk's vocal cords hurt too badly to scream any more. In any case his voice could not drown out the words of a god. It spoke like a male, overpowering and otherworldly. Yet the language it was using sounded very familiar.

"Freya?" Rasaad whispered.

NO… YES… NO… NOT EXACTLY.

"Well _I'm_ pleased to see you, Master!" Erowan trilled. "Ooh you've got a fancy new avatar! Very scary. I'll certainly be having nightmares about this one!"

HA! LOOK WHAT I CAN DO!

The dog barked joyfully and swept its furless tail over the ground making it burn with a noxious flame.

"What a super trick. Very impressive Master," the cultist beamed indulgently.

All at once the apparition froze. Then it started flinching as though someone were tugging on an invisible leash. The flayed wolf whined and resisted, like a puppy not wanting to leave the park after walkies.

OH NO… WHAT… WHAT'S HAPPENING…?

"I'm afraid you can't stay. Not all of you have died yet," Erowan replied apologetically. "I knew you wouldn't want these daft monks burning down your lovely temple, and they were filling the sacrificial lake with their own blood anyway so I thought I might as well…"

WHY ARE THERE SO MANY VOICES? WAIT! DON'T SEND US BACK, WE HAVE QUESTIONS!

"I'm sorry Master, but we've used up all the blood," she said. "Just hang in there. I'm sure the rest of you will pop your clogs soon enough."

THERE'S ONE!

The wolf pointed a hairless paw directly at Arowan. Its claw extended, shaking from the effort of remaining in their plane. Erowan looked over her shoulder with a mild expression on her face.

I SEE ONE OF ME OVER THERE! KILL ME! GET ON WITH IT, I WANT TO COME BACK! OR AT LEAST… MOST OF ME DOES… SHUT UP SAREVOK, NOBODY ASKED YOU!

"Well, I'll try to persuade you Master, but you know you can be very stubborn in your mortal guises about wanting to stay alive!" Erowan wagged a finger at him. "See you soon!"

NO, NO, NO… BUGGER!

The wolf popped out of existence. His loyal cultist waved him goodbye. Then she looked around the temple grounds at all the dead monks and abandoned equipment. She sighed and shook her head.

"Look at the mess they made of the rockery!"

Then she turned to Arowan, just as the vines began to recede. They'd all heard what Bhaal had instructed his follower to do, and her party's hands flew to their weapons.

"Stay away from me!" Arowan screamed.

"See Master? I told you, you weren't going to co-operate!" Erowan rolled her brown eyes. "You never do. Well, I'm certainly not going to stand here and argue with you about it. You can take it up with Amelyssan when she finds you."

"Who is Amelyssan?" Arowan asked shakily. "What just happened?"

"Those fighting monks dropped a lot of sacrificial blood into the fountain," Erowan said. "Powerful stuff. It was enough to bring the rest of you back from the Abyss, long enough to stop them burning down this temple. Can't make it permanent though. Not until all of you is down there."

"You mean until all of Bhaal's children are dead?"

"That's right, Master," Erowan said. "Don't worry, it shouldn't take much longer. Amelyssan says she has a very clever plan to collect the rest of you. You'll be back to your old self in no time!"

"I don't suppose she told you what this very clever plan is?" Yoshimo asked sharply.

"Oh no, dear. They never tell me anything," the cultist laughed. Then she seemed struck by a sudden thought, and clapped her freckled hand to her face. "Amelyssan didn't say I could perform the ritual. I hope she isn't going to be cross. She's so mean when she gets cross."

"We won't tell if you won't," Arowan said weakly. Suddenly her legs gave out from under her and Yoshimo had to catch her before she hit the ground.

"You seem to be a little out of sorts Master," Erowan said kindly. "Would you like a cup of tea, oh Lord of the Void of Death?

"You're not going to poison it are you?" asked Jaheira mistrustfully.

"Not unless he asks me to."

"I'm not a 'he!'" the Bhaalspawn objected.

"Whatever you say Master. You're the god."

"A cup of tea… a cup of tea would be lovely," Arowan replied, her head spinning. Why not? It wasn't like this day could possibly get any more surreal. "And then I want to go to sleep and then I want to get as far away from this temple as possible!"

She woke the next morning, wondering if the events of the night before had been a bad reaction to Zaviak's herbs. They weren't. Bandaged and leaning on a crutch, Brother Kelner limped out and pressed on them all the cookies he had. Erowan followed behind with more tea. When they'd handed over their refreshments, the two stepped back holding hands.

Hammerhelm also came to see them off. The dwarf looked strikingly different. He was wearing flowing white robes and a flower crown. Every so often he stroked at a shadow of stubble on his chin, which he hadn't shaved off.

"Praised be the Twofold for our deliverance," he beamed.

"That wasn't the Twofold. That was Bhaal!" Erowan piped up helpfully.

"Of course it was," Hammerhelm replied patronizingly. "Now don't you have some beds to make or something?"

"If you like," she smiled vacantly, and wandered back toward the temple.

"Ah yes, as I was saying," the dwarf coughed. "Terribly sorry to see you go Rasaad. You and your charming lady-friend are welcome back any time." He looked shamefacedly at the rest of the party. "We've er… decided to dispense with the trials from now on. We're making some changes in the way the Trust is run."

"Several of our monks had spiritual epiphanies in the run up to the Twofold sending her dog to save us," Kelner nodded. "The brotherhood have decided that a greater emphasis on assisted meditation rather than combat would best serve the Trust going forward."

"Assisted meditation?" echoed Rasaad.

"Indeed. Brother Yoshimo, I wonder if we might take a sample of those wonderful leaves of yours? We're putting together a pilgrimage to obtain seedlings so that we might start growing our own."

"Ah," said Rasaad critically. "I see."

"Take the lot," sighed Yoshimo. "Here, you can have my pipe too. I'm giving it up."

"I'm giving up shaving," Hammerhelm said conversationally. "The whole 'no beard' rule was a requirement of the Sun Soul. If last night demonstrates anything it is that we are the favoured of the Twofold, not those other blasphemous sects."

"Master, the Twofold is made up!" Rasaad exclaimed in horrified disbelief. "Alorgoth admitted this himself!"

"The Twofold has been revealed for the falsehood it is," Hammerhelm sighed, taking off his flower crown and twisting it in his hands. "But clearly the established sects of Shar and Selune are not offering their followers what they need. How else could the Trust have drawn in so many followers in such a short time? Besides, we think that the goddess put the idea into Alorgoth's mind so that he might inadvertently spread the Twofold truth. She is cunning like that."

Both Rasaad and Viconia opened their mouths to argue, but already their party were walking away. Sharran and Selunite exchanged looks and then shook their heads. Some of the monks were up and about, repairing the damaged rockery, washing away the blood and preparing a patch of ground for their new 'herb garden.' Monk and cleric turned to follow their party down the mountain, leaving the lost cause of the Twofold behind them.


	44. Just a Suggestion

The Crooked Crane Inn was a squalid dive, situated a stone's throw from Athkatla's main gate. Location was all it had going for it. The Innkeeper prided himself on treating every guest equally, but all he meant by this was equally badly. The beds were bales of straw that stank of rat urine and the glasses were washed so infrequently that each one lent the ale its own unique flavour.

All of which might have suited Dorn, who also never washed, but the boredom was driving him wild with frustration. It was with some impatience, therefore, that he happened to look out of one of the grubby windows just as Jaheira's party were walking past it.

_No. Leave her be. It is not time, not yet. Soon._

Dorn hurled Rancor across the room. It buried half-a-blade deep in the flimsy wall, much to the alarm of the other customers. The Innkeeper said nothing. He did not like the half-orc, who often scared off his other patrons. However, unlike most of his regulars Dorn always paid his tab on time. Add to that the fact that the Blackguard was a lot bigger than he was, and he let it go.

"You have been saying soon for over a year!" Dorn growled at the sword, wrenching it out by its hilt. "When does soon become now?"

_Difficult to say. Soon._

Ur-Gothoz's voice spoke to him unhelpfully through the blade. Dorn let out a great roar and stormed around the pub overturning tables. Yet it was no good. He was bound to obey the demon, and the demon said; stay. So stay he must.

_Is she wearing the ring we gave her?_

Dorn glared resentfully down into the street below. He couldn't see Arowan's finger, but even from this distance the difference in her appearance was obvious. She was wearing the Charisma Ring, no doubt about it.

"Yes," he grunted resentfully. "Dense little sheep that she is. I assumed she'd drop it off the nearest bridge."

A young squire, dressed in the livery of the Firecam household, was speaking urgently with Jaheira. She nodded and the page went on his way. A moment later the party disappeared around a street corner.

_Patience Il-Khan. I promise you, when the time comes it will all be worth it. They will come for you very soon. Try to make yourself… presentable._

* * *

* * *

"It is a lovely day," Rasaad was saying to Viconia. "It cannot compare with your beauty, but it is lovely nonetheless."

"Few things can," replied Viconia, to whom modesty was still an alien concept. "You also have a pleasing look about you, I think. The sort of musculature that does make a woman swoon with desire."

She looked back at Arowan smugly, but the ranger was not listening. Yoshimo was in secret conversation with her, but whatever they were talking about their expressions suggested that it wasn't romantic. They kept looking about them anxiously and paling any time a stranger in the street made eye contact with them. Almost as though they were expecting bad news.

"Truly?" Rasaad said, drawing Viconia's attention back. "You find my body desirable?"

"If I didn't then I certainly would not have put up with you for this long," she replied truthfully. "And what do you think of Viconia, hmm? Do you yearn to sate your lust with her at night? Does her beauty make you salivate like a starving dog?"

The monk grimaced. He did not particularly appreciate the dog comparison. Acknowledging their mutual attraction had not inspired the drow to insult him any less frequently. Nor had she softened the harshness of her words. Yet there was a definite change in tone. More teasing than tormenting. He took a deep breath and recited the lines Anomen had given him to practise.

"Viconia, you are the most beautiful, astounding creature in all of Faerun," he said. "Your grace and elegance entrance me. Your umbra eclipses my heart."

He was quite proud of it. The former squire had fed him the first two lines from some manual of chivalry, but the umbra part he had managed all by himself.

"Good," she replied.

There was a pause. The monk looked utterly crestfallen, and Viconia recalled a similar conversation that she had once had. One with a certain male darthiir whose head she one day cherished hopes of placing upon a spike. She had not met Xan's surface expectation of soppy sentimentality and as a result their romance had come to an abrupt end. It occurred to her that the same thing might be happening again.

How to avert disaster? What to say? What sort of revolting, syrupy drivel would a rivvil woman spew up in response to Rasaad's compliment?

"Give me a moment to think. What do surfacers like? Wait, I have it!" she exclaimed.

"Have what?" he puzzled.

"Rasaad yn Bashir, you are like a kitten spliced with a puppy covered in sunshine and riding a unicorn?" Viconia hazarded. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a sad, trampled yellow dandelion poking out of a crack between the cobblestones. Hastily she snatched it up. "Here, I picked you a flower! There male. Will that suffice?"

Rasaad blinked a few times. Then his tattooed face split into a rare smile.

"That is, without a doubt, the strangest thing anyone has ever said to me," he grinned. The drow scowled at him. "It was charming Viconia. Thank you."

Suddenly he looked up, and a frown line appeared between his eyes. She followed his gaze to see Arowan and Yoshimo hurrying away from Jaheira. The pair had a shifty look about them.

"Where are they going?" Viconia called.

"They'll meet us tomorrow morning at the Copper Coronet," Jaheira replied. "They say they have some ritual to see to but I've never known Arowan to disappear for an Ilmatari ritual before. I suspect they may seek the privacy of a separate tavern."

"On our first night here?" Anomen scowled. "With all due respect, shouldn't we be planning our next move?"

"Our next move is to answer Sir Keldorn's summons," Jaheira said. "Though I wonder at him inviting us to his home instead of the Order Headquarters."

"It's probably because of me," Anomen replied bitterly. This did seem the most likely explanation. He and the paladins had not parted on good terms.

"Whatever he wants can wait until after we've rested," she sighed. "We'll hear him out, but we no longer need the Order's help. Not now that Arowan is clean of numbing potions. I do not intend to spend any more time running around at their bidding."

"Good," he sniffed.

"You don't have to come if you don't want to."

"I'll come." Anomen looked up and took a deep breath. "I'll not give the bastards the satisfaction of hiding from them. I'll come."

* * *

* * *

Arowan and Yoshimo approached the wreckage of Irenicus's workshop. Nobody had dared to clean it and he did not care enough to do it himself. None of his possessions remained save for the broken tanks and his portal to Spellhold. Except for Brufwuf even his servants had gone.

"Oh. You it is being," the svirfneblin acknowledged Yoshimo in a sulky tone. Then Arowan followed him into the complex and Brufwuf turned pale. "Why her you is bringing back here?" he squealed.

"Have we met?" Arowan asked.

"Seeing you carrying that body everywhere we is! Just like the master you are. Stay away from me!"

Like the imprisoned dryads, the svirfneblin had only known her on numbing potions and was afraid of her. Thief and ranger watched him fleeing into the complex. His shrill wailing and pattering footsteps could still be heard long after he had gone.

Arowan looked down at the floor. There was a sweep of long-dried blood leading down into the complex. Possibly Khalid's from when she had dragged his body around. Both of her feet seemed to have turned to lead. It was hard to bring herself to walk back down there.

"Look on the bright side," Yoshimo said bracingly. "If you die, you get to come back as that giant killer dog-thing and kick his arse!"

"I don't care what Freya or that crazy old bat in the temple say. I am not going to become Bhaal!" Arowan snapped.

"I'm not sure you get a choice," Yoshimo said. "Though I would be lying if I said the idea of you merging personalities with my sister's murderer fills my heart with joy."

"There is always a choice! I will find a way!" Arowan repeated. "One way or another. I refuse to become him."

Yoshimo smiled at her. Even in this horrible place he lifted her spirits a little. She followed him to the large blue portal leading to Spellhold. Through it they could make out Irenicus's office in the asylum. The mage was at his desk once more, but they were both taken aback by how unwell he looked. When he saw them, he could not even summon the energy to be unpleasant. He simply beckoned them in.

"What is this? I didn't send for you yet!" Irenicus greeted them. Then he put his head into his hands and groaned. "No matter. I was about to."

He was disturbing even to look at. A being of lesser power would already have died from the injuries he was sporting. It looked as though his legs already had. They hung limply out from his robes, shrivelled and grey. Part of his face had been ripped away, revealing bone beneath. His jaw was partially held on by wires and when he opened his mouth to speak, his tongue was swimming in black bile.

Slowly, he opened his hand. There were many more bolts in it now than before. In his palm sat a thick band of gold. Its nine facets each sported a tiny gemstone. Even from a distance, the artefact radiated evil, and the Ilmatari recoiled from it.

"Is that it?" Arowan asked, eventually finding her voice. "The Ring of Gaax?"

"Indeed," Irenicus replied coldly. "Courtesy of your letter we were finally able to locate Kangaax. Between the three of us, we managed to destroy him, but as you can see it came at a price. Bodhi was defeated and will need to regenerate. Bubbles is currently being resurrected in the temple district."

He shifted in his chair, and it seemed to them that even the smallest movements were causing him pain.

"I am almost out of time, Arowan, and so are you if Bubbles fails to bring Eric back."

"Actually, that is what we came to speak to you about," Arowan began timidly. Irenicus stared at them impassively. "This journal fell into our possession. It belonged to a man named Ajantis Ilvastarr…"

Vexation blazed in the mage's eyes and his lip began to curl.

"You know this man?" Yoshimo asked incredulously. It was hard to imagine a less likely acquaintance.

"No, but I came to know _of_ him recently," Irenicus replied. Whatever the association, he clearly found it irksome. "I used Bodhi and Imoen as test subjects for my procedure. To restore my sister, I chose to use one of Imoen's soul fragments rather than gifting her the power of an intact Bhaalspawn. For reasons which, having met her, will be obvious to you."

He held out his hand for the diary. Yoshimo handed it to him, and he seemed to have difficulty even holding it up. For a split second, Arowan wondered if he might be weak enough for them to kill him, but then he whispered something and Ajantis's journal soared to comfortable reading-level and opened itself.

"I chose the soul of the Bhaalspawn Draxle," he said, reading as he spoke. "Of all the pieces I got to know probing Imoen's mind, hers was the one I judged least likely to pose any threat. However, I underestimated how much influence it would have on my 'sister's' behaviour. She has developed a preoccupation with knights in general, and Ajantis in particular, that I find most irritating. But I digress. Do continue."

Arowan swallowed.

"I do not believe that Eric will come back willingly," she said. "It was his fear of hell that drove him to go to the lengths he did to stay alive. We know now that if he waits in the Abyss until all the Bhaalspawn are dead, he and the rest of them will reform as Bhaal. He'll fight resurrection."

Irenicus flicked a page of the journal and smiled, a thin-lipped smile.

"He'll come back as a god, will he? That is worth knowing. If Freya and Eric ascend before I do, that could end very badly for me. No doubt they will seek their revenge," the mage mused. Then he added suddenly; "And fortunate for you that you told me, Arowan. I had some interesting experiments lined up for you. Still, if keeping you alive postpones the godhood of your siblings then I am minded to let you go."

"Th- thank you?" she replied, recalling what she had seen of his experiments and feeling very ill.

"Assuming of course that we can revive Eric," he went on. "I take it that you would not have come to me with this problem unless you also have a solution?"

"The answer lies in Ajantis Ilvastarr's journal," Yoshimo replied, steadying Arowan. "Read the last page."

Irenicus pursed his lips and turned the floating book to its final entry.

_"'When I was certain that I was alone, I crept from my coffin and perused her notes.' _ Well, well Bubbles, that was exceedingly careless of you…"

He read on

_ "'_ _The time to act is soon. At the end of the ritual Bubbles will cry out the word 'Vita' followed by the name of the Bhaalspawn she means to summon. Before she can call for Eric, I will call for Draxle.'"_

He stopped reading abruptly, tried to rise to his feet, then remembered that he couldn't. His useless legs, deadened by the battle with Kangaax, might as well not even be there. The mage slumped down in his chair, peeved but exhausted.

"Draxle?" he thundered. "Unacceptable! She was even weaker than you are! "

"Ajantis won't be able to call for her. He's dead," Yoshimo reassured him, "We killed him."

"Not on purpose!" Arowan added, before remembering who it was she was talking to. What would Irenicus care whether or not she was a killer? His sadism ran far beyond vanilla-murder. "It wasn't Draxle we had in mind."

Irenicus skipped down to the very bottom_. Slowly, a sly, mirthless smile crept over his face. For Yoshimo had crossed out the name 'Draxle' and in her place inked in, 'Sarevok Anchev.'_

"Sarevok Anchev?" Irenicus said slowly. For all his default hostility, they could tell that he was intrigued. "And what makes you think that he will come when Eric won't?"

"He'll come," Arowan replied, more confidently than she felt. Still, she listed their reasons for thinking so, which at least convinced Irenicus that Sarevok was a safer bet than Eric.

"You realise that this plan will destroy Bubbles in the process?" he asked. Yoshimo and Arowan exchanged a nervous glance. It was true that her geas ring commanded her to restore Eric. Failure to her meant death. "Do not mistake me. I consider the demise of that cursed whore one of the highlights of your plan. I have not forgotten her assault on my complex nor the damage she inflicted on my test subjects."

"Then you… then you agree?" Arowan asked, hardly daring to believe it.

"Indeed."

"What… what about Yoshimo?" she asked quickly.

Irenicus gave her a look as if to say, 'what about him?'

"He's done everything you asked, and if you plan to ascend like you said then what further use could he be?" Arowan pleaded. "And I'll stay alive much longer with him than alone. He's saved my life so many times. What if we had children? A brand new Bhaalspawn? That could put off Freya's and Eric's ascension even longer!"

The mage considered this. Technically, once he had harvested Sarevok's essence, he would be a living piece of Bhaalspawn himself. It might be that Bhaal could not reform unless he and Bodhi died, and their stolen souls returned to the Abyss. However, the keyword in this was '_might.' _It was not a risk worth taking for the mild entertainment of experimenting on Arowan. Who knew how many Bhaalspawn still lived, and how close his victims were to returning with all the divine power of a major deity? Better to keep her alive.

"Very well," he snapped with an impatient wave of his hand. "When the ritual is completed, I will have Bodhi remove your geas. And now I am tired. Begone! Return in two days. That should give my 'sister' and her pet necromancer time to recover."

They left him in the gloom of Spellhold, still perusing the diary.

Arowan and Yoshimo made their way toward the daylight. She would not have thought it possible to find herself smiling in this of all places, but freedom was so close! Yoshimo felt so elated that he was fighting himself not to skip. Soon they would finally be able to put this nightmare behind them!

"But," he said, stopping suddenly as the fresh outdoor air hit them, "What if Sarevok won't come?"

"Then it's over," Arowan said with a sad half-smile. "If he doesn't answer the summons then I'll die."

"Run!" Yoshimo said abruptly

"What are you talking about?"

"Run, take Jaheira and hide in the forests, go as far as you can!" he insisted. "If Sarevok comes back, Irenicus won't follow you. If the ritual fails then… you saw how weak he is. He won't last much longer. You can hide until his curse overcomes him. You'll have a good chance!"

"Have you lost your mind?" she retorted. "The geas! You'll die!"

Yoshimo had run the full gauntlet of emotions from petrified, to elated, to utterly miserable. He ought to have suggested this sooner but just like Arowan he was no great hero. Only a normal person, hopelessly out of his depth.

He hadn't really had a plan. He'd just carried on, trying to survive from one disaster to the next, and hoping that things would sort themselves out. They had, to a point. If they both left for Spellhold there was a chance, and a good one, that they could both walk away. But there was also a chance that she wouldn't.

"I do not want to die," he admitted, ashamed of himself. "And especially not under this geas, with the hell that Irenicus has promised me. "Do not mistake me for some gallant Order-knight. I believe I could sacrifice anyone else in the world to save myself. Just not you."

Arowan felt tears prickling behind her eyes. She buried her face into his chest while he stroked her hair. He loved the way her hair smelled. Like coffee, honey and earth.

"Nobody is going to die," she told him. Then she took a shuddering breath and lifted her face to look at him. "No, that isn't true. Some people are going to die in that asylum, but not us."

"Not us," Yoshimo echoed.

They held each other a little longer feeling relieved. Then they meandered out onto Waukeen's promenade. Arowan, whose stomach had been winding itself in knots, had not eaten all day. Now that their meeting with Irenicus was over, she found herself powerfully hungry. Luckily the circus had not moved on yet, though it was far less crowded than when it had first arrived. They found a vendor selling bread and roasted meat on a stick, then sat on the rubble to eat it. The pair had this vantage point to themselves, for ever since the battle for Irenicus's dungeon, the locals had given the spot a wide berth.

"What do you suppose this is?" Arowan asked, biting into the meat and wiping her chin with a napkin.

"Why would you ask a question like that?" replied Yoshimo, grinning. She smiled and shook her head. It tasted like nothing else she had ever eaten and her prime suspects were horse and cat. It had an unpleasant, bitter aftertaste and as soon as the edge was taken from her hunger she gave up on it.

"Oh," he said. "It's pigeon."

"This is not pigeon," Arowan replied emphatically. "I've shot dozens of pigeons in the woods and none of them tasted like this. It tastes like an alchemist smells."

"Not wood pigeon. City pigeon," Yoshimo grimaced. He pointed at the scraggly, thread-bare birds circling the promenade in search of scraps. "One of those."

"How do you know?" she asked.

"Because mine still has feathers in it."

Both Ilmatari set their meat aside and settled for the bread instead. They were soon surrounded by flocks of pigeons, pecking at the skewers of their fallen comrades. Arowan winced and wrinkled her nose.

"That's not right."

"Forget the pigeons," Yoshimo said. "We have until tomorrow morning before we rejoin the others. There are some things we must figure out. About going to Spellhold. Practically, I mean."

"Such as?"

"Are you going to try to rescue Imoen?"

"No."

"Well that was a short conversation."

"She killed my Dad!" Arowan spat. "In the highly unlikely event that Irenicus releases her, then I'll try to find her somewhere safe to go, but I'm not risking my neck or yours to do it."

"You do not forgive her then?" he asked. It wasn't a judgemental question, yet she still felt defensive.

"How can I forgive her?" Arowan exploded suddenly. "There's no her to forgive! Imoen the human being died almost twenty years ago. Gorion was right all along; this chimera he created isn't a real person! She killed Khalid because he killed Freya, with no thought or freewill of her own. She was as automatic as a gnomish contraption. It's as meaningless as trying to forgive a golem or a zombie."

"I am relieved, if surprised," he said. "Attempting to free her would make everything exponentially more dangerous."

"Surprised?" she retorted, forcefully. Her resentment over Khalid's death had grown over time rather than waned. "You might as well have suggested that we try to save Shank and Carbos. What's the point? Shank and Carbos are dead!"

She sat in fuming silence for a while.

"You mentioned there was more than one thing we needed to plan," she said at length. "What else is there?"

"The main problem is what to do about your mother and the others," Yoshimo said. "I cannot tell them directly because of the geas. You will have to do it."

"Tell them? Are you mad?" Arowan cried. Her exclamation was so loud that it scattered the feasting pigeons, though they were soon back. "We're not bringing the Servant of all Faiths to that place and we're certainly not bringing Mum."

"You cannot just slip away," he replied. "Jaheira will assume Irenicus took you and hunt him to the ends of Toril. That cannot end well for her."

There was no denying the truth in this.

"Why don't we tell her that we're taking a short break to visit your parents in Kara-Tur?" Arowan asked. "That way when we're finished with Spellhold we can carry on protecting our Servant of all Faiths until she has done whatever it is she needs to do."

Yoshimo didn't say anything for a moment. His hand slipped into his pocket, pulled its contents halfway out and put it back in again. Then he yanked it out abruptly, placed his closed fist on his knee and took a deep breath.

"Supposing… supposing we really do go to Kara-Tur?" he asked nervously.

"I don't know Yoshi," Arowan grinned. "Your mother was pretty clear in her letter. I don't think she's going to thank you for bringing home an unwed girlfriend." Yoshimo wasn't laughing. She frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Not here," he said, looking around him at the rubble of the dungeon. "Come with me."

He led her to the temple district, and onto one of the long bridges that ran over the waterways. Over the rim of the city walls the sky was turning pink and purple as the sun set. The colours reflected off the twinkling water below them and highlighted the polished marble buildings. Yoshimo had not said a word the whole walk and Arowan was growing concerned.

Overlooking the water, with his back to her, he still wasn't speaking. She reached out to touch his arm.

"Yoshimo? What is it?"

He turned back to her and opened his palm. In it sat a ring. A thin silver band, shaped into the bound hands of Ilmater. Her breath caught in her throat. He dropped down to one knee, holding it out to her between finger and thumb.

"Arowan, will you marry me?"


	45. The Calm Before the Storm

"Yes? Yes!"

Yoshimo's face split into a delighted smile. As soon as she recovered from her surprise, excitement flooded her and her eyes began to sparkle. He rose to his feet and held her close, spinning her around, before slipping the ring onto her finger.

He kissed her, and the pair stayed locked together until an irritated cough from a nearby Talon guard prompted them to break apart.

"You're not just doing this in case we die are you?" Arowan asked him.

"No. This is in case we don't," he replied earnestly. "If our plan… If this works I get my life back, and I want to spend it with you."

Arowan was sold. She didn't need much convincing. Moving quickly, however, was a practical necessity. They could hardly tell the others that they were leaving on a honeymoon _before_ they got married.

There was a Chapel of Ilmater just below the Mithrest Inn where they'd been planning on staying. A palmful of coins to the Painbearer, another to one of the resident beggars to run to the Copper Coronet for Jaheira and Anomen, and the deed was done.

If either cleric or druid had an opinion about their sudden decision to wed, neither of them passed comment. Anomen stood cheerfully enough as groomsman. He had always regarded them (and Yoshimo especially) as somewhat loose cannons, so he found the situation only mildly surprising. It was not the big, elaborate wedding he would have chosen for himself, but it seemed to suit the Ilmatari well enough.

Jaheira was happy for her adopted daughter. The pair loved each other, she was sure of it. That was never a guarantee of happiness in the long term, but given their lifestyle there was no guarantee of there even _being _a long term. Privately she began to make plans to detach herself. She had been too long away from the Harpers, and while Arowan would be reluctant to give her up, few new husbands really wanted their mother-in-law around full time.

The ceremony was short, though surprisingly well attended. Those beggars and orphans who frequented the chapel ate well that night and were not in the least concerned by the bride and groom's early departure.

Conspicuous by their absence were Viconia and Rasaad. The note had only asked for Jaheira and Anomen. The Sharran, naturally, had no interest in her long-time rival's wedding anyway. Except in so far as how Rasaad would react to it. For his part, he was relieved to be excused.

Everyone would have been looking at him, and how does one act naturally at an ex-partner's wedding? Smile too often and it seems like you're trying too hard. Get caught _not _smiling and people would assume bitterness. A situation best avoided.

He stared into the smouldering firepit over which roast hogs were slowly turning. By some error of design, they had placed it right in the middle of the Copper Coronet. There were chimney stacks high up to let the smoke out, but no flume as such. The result was that the fumes fanned out above them, curling into the rafters of the roof, and the air was always thick and sooty.

"You are thinking of Arowan?" Viconia asked. She tried to sound casual, but it was clear that the wrong answer would see his carcass joining the pigs over the fire.

"No… well possibly yes… technically…" he said with a frown. "I was thinking about Bhaal, and the disturbing possibility that they may be the same thing."

"She hardly comes across as god-material," Viconia mused, "But it is even harder to imagine Arowan and Freya being different aspects of the same person."

"Much like it is hard to imagine Selune being the same goddess as Shar," agreed Rasaad. The drow shot him a look and he steered away from that subject. "It is strange to know that we are personally acquainted with a god. Especially the Lord of Murder."

Viconia shrugged. Like most senior drow, she had spoken with Lolth in person on many occasions, and the goddess knew who she was. As did all of the gods, she supposed. So being on first name terms with Bhaal didn't seem so very strange to her.

"I regret running," she said. "From Bhaal, I mean. I would have liked to have seen her… him… again. Seems that Freya is a worthwhile ally even in death."

"A worthwhile ally? Viconia, why is it so hard for you to admit that you were friends?" Rasaad sighed.

"Drow do not have friends, foolish male! Friendship is for the weak! We have acquaintances who we use to our own ends," Viconia snapped, but she looked a little sad just the same. "She was… very useful. I trusted her. Albeit, only because she was too stupid to betray me."

Jaheira and Anomen came in through a side door. The ashes in the air, as always began to form a film of grime over his armour. He was like a magnet for soot, but since his expulsion from the Order, it did not seem to bother him.

"Is it done then?" Viconia sneered. "The brat has claimed ownership of her substandard male?"

"For better or worse," yawned Anomen cheerfully. "And now I am going to bed. We have the honour of an invitation to Keldorn's estate tomorrow. I wish to be well rested before I present myself."

"Really?" Jaheira asked. This did not seem to stack with his previous remarks about the man.

"Certainly," the former-squire replied curtly. "Else how can you expect me to stay awake through his ceaseless droning?"

Jaheira allowed herself a half-smile. It was a shame that when she returned to the Harpers she would have to leave her party behind. She was growing rather fond of them. Some of them, anyway. The druid had few regrets about leaving Rasaad and Viconia.

* * *

* * *

Arowan pulled her new husband's shirt over his shoulders and tossed it into the rapidly growing pool of discarded clothes on the floor. Yoshimo could feel the warmth radiating from her. Neither of them were the most experienced in this department. The number of previous lovers they'd had between them could be counted on one hand. Yet they felt no nervousness. From early in their friendship it had felt natural, even inevitable, that they would eventually end up here.

She twirled his long, black ponytail around her fingers. Ever since she'd been old enough to have preferences, she had always had a thing for long-haired men. She felt out the little scrap of leather binding it back and tried to loosen it. Realising what she was doing (and not wanting to find himself scalped) the thief let it down himself.

His hair tumbled down over his shoulders, rakish and cute. The ranger smiled at him. It was a perfect, seductive smile. It also wasn't her own.

He stopped abruptly and pulled away from her, looking awkward.

"Could you take the ring off for me?" Yoshimo asked.

"I… oh," she replied, taking off the silver band that he had given her only an hour before.

She felt a bit sick, as though she were on a wildly spinning fairground ride which had suddenly, and without warning, changed direction. What did this request mean? Had he changed his mind _already, _and if so, what had she done to prompt it? Or had his proposal been a spur of the moment thing brought on by extreme stress, and he was only now realising what a bad idea it was?

"Not that ring!" he laughed, pushing it firmly back on. "My ring stays where it is. I meant Dorn's little offering. The Charisma Ring. Take that one off."

Arowan, who had limited patience for disingenuous romantic gestures, rolled her eyes.

"Are you about to tell me you find me more attractive without it?" she asked wryly.

He held out a palm for it and cocked his eyebrow at her expectantly.

"Give me the ring. Just give it to me for a moment," he insisted. With a sigh, Arowan took it off, and watched her body revert back to its natural state. Her hair no longer hung perfectly like an oil painting, her freckles moved from artfully spread out to clumps of random chaos. Her breasts shrank, the wobbly parts on her thighs returned and her tummy could no longer be used as an ironing board.

All the parts of herself that she didn't like had reappeared. Reluctantly, she placed the ring in Yoshimo's palm, and the thief put it on his own finger. Arowan blinked.

Yoshimo with the Charisma Ring was _very _pretty. He was leaner and more muscular, his hairline had moved further down his face and the hair itself was thicker and shinier. His bones were chiselled and sharper, and even his scars had migrated around his face so that they sliced at more flattering angles. A quick downward glance told her that unless she was much mistaken, that wasn't all that had changed.

He looked like the consummate rogue samurai. It was Yoshimo, how he wanted to be.

"Do you find me more attractive like this?" he asked with a grin. Even his teeth had straightened and were perfect.

"No," she lied dutifully.

"Yes you do," Yoshimo said, flicking her nose. "Of course you do. Because I _am _more attractive like this. That is what the ring does."

He took the metal band off and placed it on the bedside table. Sitting down beside her on the bed, he took her hands in his. She looked down at them, but the thief nuzzled her face and moved it up so that she had to meet his eyes. Eyes which were, admittedly, less sexy minus the ring.

"Do you love me any less like this?" he asked her quietly.

Arowan smiled at him. No. She loved him just the same either way, but he had almost given her a heart attack when he asked her to remove the ring, without specifying which one. There was no way she was letting him off the hook for that.

"I don't recall ever saying that I love you," she teased him.

"Yes you do. You love me."

"Hmm. Maybe," she giggled, then shrieked as he pounced on her kissing and tickling and begging her to say it until they were both breathless with laughter. "Alright! Alright!" she squeaked, when she couldn't stand it any longer. "I love you!"

She was pinned beneath him now. His hair fell about both their faces like a dark curtain. As she reached up to stroke the rough stubble growing up the side of his neck, his heartbeat quickened in his chest.

"I love you," she repeated more seriously. "Although I'm still not sure why you have such a downer on the ring."

"I'm not saying we can't play with it later," he grinned wickedly. Then he looked a little shy. "It's just that our first time I would like it better if I looked like me, and you looked like you."

Arowan wrapped her legs about his hips, and he ground against her through what little was left of their clothes. Her brown eyes burned beneath thick lashes and he hastily removed his breeches. She kicked off her socks, feeling a bit daft with only them on.

"Maybe next time I'll pick up some of those cheap, impractical robes from the stalls outside?" she giggled. "We can play witches and wizards."

"Ha! Or perhaps the roleplay armour from the Adventurer's Mart?" Yoshimo suggested enthusiastically.

"You mean the set with the boob window?"

"That's the one," he said, looking rather wistfully at her chest, before remembering that he now had license to touch. He sighed happily. "It always makes my day when novice warriors don't realise what boob armour is for and buy it to wear into battle. You just know that they'll be shopping for a new set by the end of the week. Ah… you'd think the fact that the storekeeper hangs them by the whips and chastity belts would be a giveaway."

"I bet they can't even return them," Arowan laughed. "Who wants to buy second-hand sex clothes?"

"I don't know, Bubbles maybe?"

"Gross!" she shrieked, throwing her socks at him. "Urgh… why would you even say that?"

"What sort of bride throws dirty socks at her husband on their wedding night? Crazy Lady!" he retorted.

He lay behind her, kissing her neck, and took her hand in his. Slowly he moved them both to the patch of fur between her legs, arranging their fingers so that he was touching her, but she was guiding him.

"Show me how to please you, Crazy Lady," he murmured affectionately.

She moved his hand with hers, until he got the hang of how to vary the speed and how much pressure to apply. Before long her breath was coming out in rapid gasps. Arowan could not imagine trusting anyone else enough to do this, but his touch felt as natural to her as her own. Once he no longer needed her to show him, she moved her hand away, reaching behind her to curl her fingers through his hair.

Yoshimo breathed in deeply, his face buried into neck. Coffee and honey; he adored the way she smelled. After a while his fingers began to cramp, but he ignored it and carried on. It was worth a little discomfort to see his Arowan, his wife, flush with pleasure and listen to her little sighs and moans.

When she finally shivered against him, and lay still, the two took a brief break. He rolled onto his back, and she turned over dozily to lay her head on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat, warm and comforting, and he stroked her hair contentedly. It would have been easy for her to slip into sleep, but when she noticed his heartrate begin to slow, the ranger decided it was time to speed it up again.

This did not prove difficult. As he felt her mouth begin to trail kisses lower and lower, Yoshimo's whole body tensed. His fingers curled in the bedsheets and he braced himself. Of course he had _heard _of what Arowan was about to do, but had never actually had someone do it for him before. It would have amused Viconia greatly to know this, but by Ilmatari standards what they were doing was kinky bordering-on-perverted.

The first brush of her tongue felt like lightening surging through his body, the second more like torture as he fought to keep his himself still. He threw back his head with a loud moan as she took him fully into her warm, wet mouth and ran up and down his length.

"_I get to spend the rest of my life with this woman," _he thought. It was an incredible prospect and one which temporarily drove from his mind all fears that the rest of their lives might not be very long.

The next morning, Arowan woke to the scent of coffee and fresh bread. Yoshimo had snuck downstairs and brought it up for her. She ate off his chest leaving crumbs on the bedsheets, while they talked about Kara-Tur and meeting his family.

"I should warn you that the subject of grandchildren will come up often," he cautioned her. "And by often, I mean at least five times a day. Just ignore it. In their eyes the sole purpose of young Ilmatari is to breed more Ilmatari. They mean well."

"That isn't the topic I'm worried about," she said, biting her lip. "What should we say about Tamoko?"

"Ah. To tell you the truth, I'm not sure about that myself," Yoshimo replied. "They didn't mention her at all when they replied to my awful letter. Writing it was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I told them she had died during a mugging gone wrong. That she was knocked to the cobblestones, hit her head and the Flaming Fist did not find her body until it was too late to revive her. They wouldn't understand about Sarevok. Knowing that their daughter died fighting for an unmarried lover who kept a harem of other mistresses would be almost as difficult for them to accept as the loss itself."

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"Don't be," he sighed. "It was a long time ago, and her killer died as horrible a death as I could have asked for. Do you think… do you think perhaps if we did have a daughter we could name her Tamoko?"

"Of course," she smiled sadly, stroking his face. "Could we name our son Khalid?"

He nodded. Then all at once his face brightened and he grinned cheekily.

"But if we have more sons we are calling them Yoshimo II, Yoshimo Junior, Yoshimo Returns and…"

"We are not having five children!" Arowan exclaimed emphatically. It was not so very long ago that she had been unwilling to contemplate even one. Yet with him, perhaps, it didn't sound so very unappealing after all.

* * *

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates to this story might be a bit erratic for a while owing to the current situation. Some sections of it were written before I started Shifting Targets and just need proof reading, but finding time to write those chapters that need doing from scratch will be tricky. Stay safe in these scary times. xx


	46. Shank and Carbos Start a Tavern Brawl

Keldorn Firecam's estate was impeccably messy, which meant that it was the sort of rustic that required a dedicated gardener's daily effort to maintain. The ivy twining up the walls of the house stopped just shy of the gutters and windowpanes where it might do some actual damage. The plants sprouting between the cracks in the drive stones were, in fact, specially chosen wildflowers without a genuine weed in sight.

Lady Maria was relaxing in her garden with her daughters, while a serving maid poured them tea. They waved to the Ilmatari, who waved back awkwardly, but eyed the drow with suspicion. At the door a toffee-nosed footman bid them wipe their feet, before sneeringly suggesting that they remove their shoes. Arowan had never understood that kind of snobbery coming from people who were themselves servants, until she'd experienced living in the Ducal Palace with Freya. The werewolf's lack of consideration to the carpets and upholstery had doubled the servant's daily workload. They'd probably had to hire an extra valet just to deal with her boots.

"Ah. Welcome." Keldorn said gravely. "Can I offer you some refreshments?"

Much to Arowan's disappointment, Anomen stubbornly declined on behalf of them all. Whatever Sir Keldorn had called them here for must have been important, because he was transparently uncomfortable having both Anomen and Viconia in his house.

They sat down in the living room on intricately hand carved chairs, with scratchy embroidered covers. It took a lot of money to live this uncomfortably. Keldorn rubbed his beard and sighed. His eyes flickered from Jaheira, to Arowan, to Viconia and back again. It was as though he was wondering where to start.

"Firstly, I wanted to thank you personally for the excellent service you performed for the Order in Trademeet and the Umar Hills," he said. "Garren Windspear has also informed us of how you rescued his child from the beast Firkraag. The loss of Ajantis and his party was a great pity, but nobody holds you responsible for that. In truth the young man's behaviour had been growing unpredictable for some time."

"I have done more for the Order than a dozen squires combined!" Anomen snapped suddenly. "And yet they will not suffer my presence to befoul their hallowed halls? Tell Sir Ryan and Prelate Wessalen that I piss on their hospitality."

"I will tell them nothing of the sort!" Keldorn glared at him sternly from under his greying eyebrows. "And I suggest that you refrain from such speech yourself. Based on your heroic actions since leaving the Order, I might have been able to make a case for your reinstatement. Were it not for the fact that your last outburst is still fresh in their minds!"

These words knocked the wind from Anomen's sails.

"R- reinstated?" he repeated stupidly. Then his face contorted with rage. "Bah! I have no desire to waste any more of my life with that rabble of porcine windbags anyway. To hells with them!"

"Even so, boy, if I were you, I would consider moderating my tone!" Keldorn retorted angrily. "Or there may come a day when you regret burning your bridges more than you have already!"

"IS THAT A THREAT?" Anomen thundered, rising to his feet. Rasaad and Jaheira leapt up immediately to force him back down by his shoulders.

"No, it was an offer!" the old knight growled, but he knew a lost cause when he saw one. "In any case, your party were not asked to come here as a slight to you Anomen. The Order are eager to see you all. Too eager. That's the point."

"Drat. They heard, did they?" groaned Jaheira in a bored voice. "Yes, it is definitely another Temple of Amaunator. I will mark the location on your map so that they can send their experts and archaeologists. Thank you for sparing us any further involvement."

"No that isn't what I- wait! You found _another _lost temple of Amaunator?" Keldorn cried, distracted. His eyes widened like saucers and he leapt from his chair, rubbing his hands together eagerly and pressing her for details. Anomen pretended to fall asleep in his chair and snored pointedly, much to Yoshimo and Viconia's amusement.

Sir Keldorn, however, found a kindred spirit in Rasaad. The monk was delighted to have found someone who understood the significance of their find. Together they retraced their adventure through the temple step by step, sketching a makeshift map of the dungeon. Arowan sat very quietly throughout, thinking of Mazzy. Every so often she imagined Rasaad's eyes flicker toward her accusingly when the Shade Lord was mentioned.

It was only when the conversation turned to the dead prophetess Amauna that he remembered why it was he had asked them to come.

"That explains it," he muttered. "Her spirit must be the one broadcasting the prophecies. Amauna was responsible the first time this happened, and now she means to warn us that it is happening again. She must have stopped broadcasting her visions when the Shade Lord took over and started again when you liberated the temple."

"What prophecies?" asked Jaheira, bewildered. Keldorn goggled at her.

"_Her _prophecies, obviously!" he cried, pointing at Viconia who froze. "The Servant of all Faiths. Nobody doubts that it is you anymore, evil one. The visions that our clerics have been experiencing have grown far clearer and more specific of late. Perhaps because you met Amauna in person. She knows what you look like now. Our Prelate Wessalen has had particularly disturbing premonitions."

"Premonitions which warn him of what?" Viconia asked eagerly.

"A great cull of humanity and all other sentient races," Keldorn replied. "It is not, as you believed, merely one drow city. The purge will extend everywhere… but I see you are not surprised by my words. Perhaps you knew this already?"

"We learnt it from Firkraag," Jaheira said. "Though until this moment I was unsure whether to trust the mighty slug. Did your prelate's visions contain any other information? Anything might help."

"I believe there is more to what he saw," Keldorn replied darkly. "Hours before your arrival, Wessalen met with an emissary from the Dark Moon Order. I know not what was said, but as soon as the man left, the Prelate started asking me when Viconia and her party were expected to return. He wants to test the extent of your powers, Servant of all Faiths."

"Viconia, you cannot go!" Rasaad cried. "This emissary was Alorgoth, he must have been!"

The monk's hands closed possessively around Viconia's shoulders. She found that she did not mind. That Alorgoth was still hunting her was a most unpleasant surprise. They had all assumed that the appearance of Bhaal, wearing his horrible new avatar, had put the Doombringer off.

"He gave no name to the rest of us," growled Keldorn, "But I know that I trust the Dark Moon Cult even less than I trust this drow. Which is why I asked you here instead. To warn you to get out of Athkatla if you can."

"We must leave immediately!" Rasaad said. Viconia nodded shakily, but Arowan and Yoshimo exchanged a panicked look.

"We… can't," Arowan said. "Because…"

"Because we have already booked passage to Kara-Tur for our honeymoon!" Yoshimo took over for her. "Our ship leaves tomorrow morning."

"You didn't tell me this!" Jaheira said sharply.

"It was all a bit last minute!" Arowan explained quickly, noticing with a pang that the older woman looked hurt.

"Congratulations!" beamed Keldorn, getting up to shake her hand and Yoshimo's. "You didn't tell me you'd got married! Wonderful news! Jaheira, I took the liberty of preparing provisions for your party last night. I do not think it wise for you to visit the promenade at present. Perhaps you could check them over while I have a quick word with the happy couple?"

With a confused frown at Arowan, Jaheira left accompanied by the rest of the party. The Ilmatari stayed behind. When the others had gone, Keldorn closed the door to his living room discretely and motioned to them to sit down. He was no longer smiling, and the ranger suspected that whatever he had to say had little to do with their wedding.

The aging paladin sighed and scratched his neck distractedly. He probably ought not to tell them, but he was fond of the Ilmatari in a fatherly sort of way. Especially since they had patched things up between him and his wife.

"I do not wish to spoil your plans," he began, "But you should know that it is not only Viconia the Order want to see. As I mentioned, the visions have grown clearer of late. It seems that the Great Evil will harness the power of a god to bring about the prophesied destruction. There is precedent. Amauna attempted something similar in life, centuries ago. The gods sent a representative to dispatch her, we found the records of it deep in our archives. Now it seems that the child-prophetess has foreseen that history will repeat itself and is warning the world from her grave."

"I don't understand," Yoshimo said. "She told us about her 'mistake,' but she never mentioned that she was the one behind the Servant of all Faiths prophecies. Why not bring it up, when Viconia was standing right there? There is so much she might have told us."

"Possibly because you were present, Arowan."

"Me?" the ranger echoed blankly.

"A Bhaalspawn," Keldorn clarified. "Amauna does not know you as we do and may have feared that there was a danger in telling you too much."

Arowan paled and shot an anxious look at Yoshimo. They already had Irenicus to contend with as well as finding a way to rid herself of the Bhaal taint. Wasn't that enough, for mercy's sake?

"What does Bhaal have to do with this?" she asked miserably.

"Everything," replied Keldorn. "When Amauna first attempted the purge, she tried to harness the power of her own god Amaunator. But he is dead and his power dispersed amongst other deities. It cannot be him this time."

"So which god will it be?" she asked, though in her heart she knew the answer.

"The general consensus is that the likely candidate is Bhaal," Keldorn confirmed. "And that one of the Bhaalspawn will be the conduit."

The ranger tried to remember everything she had ever known or heard about the Servant of all Faiths. Briefly, she even considered whether Irenicus might be the one to instigate the cull, but that made no sense. He had spoken of 'restoring' himself. Whereas the mass death of all mortal evil would have to include him. She could not imagine that there were many mortals in the world more wicked than he was. Though now that she came to think about wicked mortals…

"So that's what Dorn wants with me!" Arowan breathed, screwing her eyes closed.

She twirled the Charisma Ring on her finger, but she could not see how being a bit (or even a lot) prettier was supposed to help him. How could her going up a cup size or two unleash the destructive power of a god against the world? Perhaps he had simply been trying to make her trust him.

"Are you alright?" Keldorn asked, concerned.

"No less so than I was before, I suppose." Arowan groaned. "I knew it had to be something like that."

"If you don't mind my asking, who is Dorn?" the paladin pressed.

"He's a Blackguard. We first came across him during Caelar's crusade. He was hunting the Servant of all Faiths, but he took a keen interest in me as soon as we met," Arowan said. "He tried to teach me to fight, although he was always calling me weak. I think I was a disappointment to him."

"A Blackguard?" Keldorn cried. "An anti-paladin? By Torm! Why did you not run him through?"

"He's a very _big _anti-paladin," Arowan pointed out, gesturing to her own relatively small size. "And we were at war. Duke Silvershield wasn't about to turn down help from a warrior who was almost as strong as the Hero herself."

"And the fact that a demon-serving wretch like that took an interest in you didn't bother you at all?" Keldorn shouted, like an angry father.

The door slammed open and Jaheira was back, glaring livid at each of them in turn, but both ranger and paladin were past paying any attention.

"Of course it bothered me!" Arowan yelled back, truthfully. "There just wasn't anything I could do about it! As for running him through, you've seen the size of Rasaad, right? Well he, the Hero of Baldur's Gate _and _the Servant of all Faiths tried to take out Dorn! They couldn't manage it between them, so what chance would I have?"

She looked over at the doorway. Rasaad's tattooed face had appeared over Jaheira's shoulder, and Viconia was craning to get a better view into the room.

"We were just discussing Dorn Il-Khan," Arowan said stiffly. "Sir Keldorn is less than impressed that he travelled with me for a while. Understandably as things turned out. Just give us a minute. Please."

The door closed again, and after waiting a moment to be sure that they were gone, she continued her story.

"The demon lord Belhifet wanted Bhaalspawn blood to open a portal to hell. He tricked Caelar Argent into getting it for him. It turned out that was the whole point of the crusade," she said. "Since Dorn and his demon master Ur-Gothoz started taking a personal interest in me, I expected that they must be pulling a similar sort of stunt."

"So… this demon has you marked down to be the conduit?" Keldorn mused. "I won't lie to you, that is grim news indeed, but take heart young one. Bhaal had many offspring and there are numerous other candidates. Flee Athkatla with the others. If this Dorn cannot find you then his master cannot use you. Stay close to the Servant of all Faiths. Whatever the demons are planning, she is the one who is meant to defeat it. Though why the gods would choose a drow as their champion… they truly do work in mysterious ways."

"Stay close to Viconia? Never advice I want to hear," Arowan replied flatly.

Worse, it was advice she knew she could not follow. She and Yoshimo had to turn up in Spellhold on time, or the geas would kill him. There was no way she would risk taking the Servant of all Faiths to that accursed place.

They left Keldorn's house with the provisions he had provided. Jaheira kept looking at Arowan and frowning. Every so often the druid opened her mouth as though she were about to say something, but changed her mind.

* * *

* * *

They returned to the Copper Coronet to collect their belongings, only to find themselves in the midst of a full-blown riot.

"What in the hells?" yelled Anomen, as a chair sailed past his head and splintered against the wall behind.

"Bernard!" Jaheira screamed at the top of her lungs. "Bernard what is happening?"

The barkeep tried to reply but could not make himself heard over the chaos. He ducked and dodged between brawling men and dwarves, all of them shouting as they rained down their punches. Several of his more enterprising customers took advantage of his distraction to raid the bar. Soon they were passing out dozens of bottles of _Nashkel Taverns Bespoke Hand-Crafted Ale_. A drink and an extra weapon all in one!

"Murder!" Bernard panted. "There's been a murder upstairs!"

"Who?" she cried, aghast.

"Erm… who did it, or who got murdered?" he faltered under her angry gaze. Jaheira's eyes bulged at him and she swelled like a bullfrog.

"BOTH BERNARD!" she exploded, so loudly that a number of fighters paused to look at them. "MURDERER AND VICTIM ARE BOTH RELEVENT HERE!"

"Yes ma'am, sorry ma'am," Bernard stammered. "The victim's name is Llynis. Dwarf thief, nasty sort. He arrived a week ago and has barely left his room since. Reckon he was hiding from someone. He jumped a foot in the air every time housekeeping knocked on his door."

"And the murderer?"

"Right there!" the barman squealed pointing, before flinging himself under a table to hide.

A powdered courtesan was lurking calmly near to the back rooms. She was clutching a dripping dagger in one hand and, of all things, a teddy bear in the other. Bubbles smiled at them with rotten teeth and minced daintily down the steps toward the door. Arowan and Yoshimo recognized her instantly.

"She didn't try to hide what she was doing nor nothing!" Bernard went on from under the table. "But when one of the guards tried to stop her, them two went wild and started attacking everybody! All kicked off in minutes it did!"

He did not need to tell the party who 'them two' were. Shank and Carbos had miraculously survived their encounter with Kangaax, though they were looking decidedly ropey these days. Shank had lost his original nose, acquired another one from somewhere and attached it clumsily with needle and thread. The new one had a pretty crescent moon piercing in it which didn't suit him.

A surly looking dwarf had sliced off Carbos's left leg with an axe. The severed limb was happily carrying on without him, lashing out at the buttocks of the brawlers in a manner that would have made Minsc proud.

Bubbles was beaming and waving her over-manicured hand at them openly now.

"You know this woman?" Jaheira demanded.

"We've met," Arowan said. "Would you excuse us, just for one moment? I think we can sort this out."

Before the druid could reply, the Ilmatari were headed off without her again. She called out in protest but they were already making their way through the crowd toward the murderous courtesan and her clearly-undead pets.

Jaheira had not been invited to join the Harpers because Elminster believed she was born yesterday. Something was not right about the two Ilmatari and she knew it. Their sudden wedding was the _least _strange thing about their behaviour since returning to Athkatla. That she believed… but abandoning the Servant of all Faiths on a whim so that they could take a romantic vacation in Kara-Tur? It was so out of character for her morally fastidious daughter that she simply did not buy it.

"Don't let them leave!" she instructed Anomen and Rasaad.

"Where are you going?" cried Bernard. "What about the bar?"

"Hang the bar!" snapped Jaheira. "I'm going to the docks. I'll be back in an hour. If these idiots haven't punched themselves out by then, I'll sort it out for you."

"Oh. Thanks a bunch," muttered the unlucky innkeeper sulkily. "Bloody ungrateful Harpers… should have stayed in Nashkel…"

* * *

* * *

"Darlings!" trilled Bubbles as they approached. "So glad you're here. Perhaps you could clear up this little… ah… misunderstanding? Before anyone gets hurt?"

"Someone is already hurt!" retorted Yoshimo incredulously, gesturing to the dagger in her hand.

Bubbles looked down at it and shoved it belatedly into her belt, where it dripped blood down her petticoats. They were purple today, with a large slit up the side revealing fishnet stockings. Oddly enough she had rather nice legs and might have been quite pretty before her descent into necromancy. Now she seemed to grow more repulsive each time they met her. There was a reek of carrion emanating from those skirts.

"Oh. Yes. Well, unavoidable sadly," she sighed. "Bodhi was quite insistent on getting her lichdom _before _we summon Eric and Llynis was the last sacrifice on my list."

"You're sacrificing people?" cried Arowan in horror.

"You made Bodhi immortal?" cried Yoshimo, equally aghast.

"It's your fault! You're the ones who brought back that nasty fur coat!" Bubbles retorted defensively. "And Llynis was a child murderer if it makes you feel any better. That's why I chose him."

The Ilmatari thought about this for a moment, then their stances softened. Technically their faith taught them to forgive _all _crimes, but in practise there were limits.

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess it does," Arowan nodded fairly. "But what does Freya's fur have to do with anything."

"Bodhi chose it as her phylactery," Bubbles grimaced. They looked at her questioningly so she added, "The store for her soul if she dies. She was quite clever really. See the curse that she and her brother are under is degenerative. Bodhi won't be able to reform herself like a normal lich, but a coat can be worn."

Arowan clapped her hand to her mouth. An empty bottle of Nashkel Taverns hurtled past her face, but the ranger barely noticed it.

"She means to possess someone?" she gasped. She turned to Yoshimo, horror struck. "By Ilmater, what have we done?"

Bubbles was not an unkind woman at heart, and she opted at this point not to say any more. The ranger was this upset just at the prospect of Bodhi possessing someone. Doubtless it'd cause her unimaginable distress to learn that her target was the soulless body of Skie Silvershield, a potential ruler of Baldur's Gate. Instead she changed the subject.

"So my ducklings. Off to Spellhold tomorrow. If this goes well, we'll finally be free! Any plans?" the courtesan asked cheerily. "I was thinking of taking a trip to Calimport myself. I've always wanted to go, although I don't think the heat will agree with Shank and Carbos. With any luck it might finally finish them off."

"We were thinking Kara-Tur," replied Yoshimo in a hollow voice.

He kicked Arowan on the ankle. Her insides were knotting with guilt and it was starting to show on her face. Bubbles noticed too, but she misunderstood the reason. She put a sympathetic hand on the ranger's arm.

"Don't worry sweetheart. The summoning will work," she said sweetly. "You'll be replaced, I'll be free of the geas and as for Eric, he thoroughly deserves it I promise you. I'll admit, I'm glad this means Irenicus won't use you. Every time I feel guilty about what I'm doing to Eric, all I have to do is remind myself that if I weren't doing it then you'd die in his place, and I don't feel so bad."

"You… you _do_ feel guilty about it then?" Arowan asked despondently.

She was wishing that they had never had this conversation. Bubbles was starting to sound no more a monster than they were. Just another victim of circumstance. Only it was too late to save her. They had already told Irenicus their plan. Even if they didn't call Sarevok's name now, he would.

"Guilty? Oh bless you dear! All the time!" Bubbles laughed bitterly. "I even feel guilty about Llynis for the crying god's sake, and you wouldn't believe what a piece of work he was. Look at this!"

She held up the teddy bear. It had that threadbare, slightly chewed look of an over-loved toy. It was missing an eye and the stuffing was coming loose from some of the seams. A toy which was utterly valueless except, they suspected, to one specific child.

"Bastard took the little lad's bear after he'd killed him," the courtesan half-snarled. "Wellyn's his name. His parents tell me his ghost begs them to find it for him every night. He's even come here a few times to ask Llynis for it back in person, so he can pass on to the next life. Piece of shit wouldn't give it to him. Now tell me he didn't deserve to die!"

Her tone was defiant but her eyes were welling up. With an unbearable surge of despair, Arowan realised that she was looking at a murderess who never wanted to be what she had become. The ranger knew exactly how Bubbles felt.

"Yes," she said quietly. "He deserved to die. Come with us, there's another way out through the sewers."

"What about Shank and Carbos?" asked Yoshimo. The two zombies were still fully immersed in the fray. Once they had been passable as living people, provided you didn't sniff too closely, but they were past that now. Someone had embedded an axe into Shank's chest, but the former half-elf was fighting on regardless.

"Leave them," the necromancer sighed. "They'll find their way home. Or maybe they won't. Whichever."

Bubbles stared at the bear as they walked, her lip wobbling.

"I'll return it tonight," she said quietly. "It'll be some comfort to Wellyn's parents I suppose? Though I doubt they'll ever really get over it." The courtesan took a long, shuddering breath and pulled herself together, wiping a tear with the back of her hand. Her wrist came away black with eye makeup.

Yoshimo silently offered her a handkerchief, and Arowan could tell that he felt as terrible as she did. They could warn Bubbles, but for either of them to do so would condemn them both to death. She was not willing to sacrifice her spouse's life for the courtesan and neither was he. They said nothing.

"Ah well," Bubbles bid them farewell at the entrance to the sewers. "Occupational hazard of being the friendly village necromancer I suppose. People come to me with these sorts of problems."

She stepped away into the sewers, and the Ilmatari stared after her until the click of her high heels faded away. Arowan was scratching at the three-line scar on her face, running her nails over it again and again. The thief noticed blood droplets oozing out and caught her wrist firmly.

"Yoshimo?"

"I know."

"We've killed that woman."

"I know."

"We're murderers."

Her hand was moving subconsciously toward her cheek again, and once more Yoshimo caught it.

"No!" he pulled her close to him and stroked her hair to comfort her. "No, no, no. We didn't know. How could we have known? It was an accident. Just an accident… and don't forget, she is still a necromancer."

"A necromancer who brings ghost children their teddy bears back."

"A necromancer who granted Bodhi the gift of eternal life," Yoshimo retorted harshly. "Spare a thought for the poor devil who ends up wearing Freya's fur coat. Or all those thieves whom she sent to their deaths so that she could break into Irenicus's library. We are _not _about to start feeling sorry for Bubbles. It is done Arowan. It's done!"

Arowan took a deep steadying breath and nodded, her resolve stiffening.

"Let us have some lunch, collect our things from the Mithrest and go to bed early," Yoshimo said. "By this time tomorrow it will all be over. We'll have the rest of our lives to atone for our mistakes."

One of their mistakes was underestimating their party leader. When they returned to the bar the fight had died down and the rest of the group were helping Bernard clean up. At least Anomen and Rasaad were while Viconia directed them.

"Where's Jaheira?" asked Arowan.

"Gone for a walk," replied Bernard smoothly. The Ilmatari shrugged and were about to start tending to the injured when Rasaad rounded on them.

"Who was that woman?" he demanded.

"Her name is Bubbles," Arowan replied bluntly. "She's a necromancer who lives in the Bridge District. Helped us out during that business with Rejiek Hidesman."

"I am sure that I have seen her before!" the monk insisted. "She is the same courtesan that we saw battling the lich with Edwin."

"Yes," agreed Arowan. "Yes she is."

"What did she want with you two?" Anomen baulked.

"A way out of the Inn," Yoshimo shrugged. "So we showed her one. What else were we going to do, start a fight with her? I don't fancy ending up like those two… no! Hoi! No! Leave that alone! Shoo!"

He had looked over at Shank and Carbos as he spoke. The two zombies were crouching over a groggy fallen dwarf. Shank had found two only slightly-broken plates and tucked a napkin into his collar. Carbos was holding a knife and fork in one hand and the dwarf's own axe in the other. Both were looking at the brain-containing skull with obvious intent, like squirrels eyeing an acorn.

"Where's Bubbles?" Arowan called at them, as Carbos raised the axe. "Hadn't you better find her?"

Carbos dropped the axe behind him with a clang and blinked stupidly. He and Shank looked about the Copper coronet with dull, milky eyes, realised that their mistress wasn't there, and shambled to their feet.

"You lose Bubbles!" Shank grunted accusingly.

"No, you lose Bubbles!" Carbos retorted.

"Shall we fight over our beloved Bubbles?"

"What a spiffing idea. After you old chap!" replied Carbos politely, moments before Shank's hand connected with his face, leaving a couple of fingernails behind.

"Eric really did have a twisted sense of humour," Arowan muttered under her breath.

* * *

* * *

Salty air and the squawk of seagulls told Jaheira that she was nearing the docks. A sailor loading crates onto a cargo vessel unwisely attracted her attention by whistling at her.

Quick as a flash, vines leapt through the pavement and seized the man. He dropped the rope he had been heaving on, causing his cargo to smash into the deck with a splintering crash. There were angry yells of protest from the above, and a dozen surly faces peered over the side at them.

"You!" Jaheira snapped. "I am looking for the ship bound for Kara-Tur in the morning. Is this it?"

"Kara-Tur?" the man grunted. "Do we look like we're from Kara-fucking-Tur? We're headed back to Calimport!"

Jaheira looked up and down the docks. There were five more ships weighing anchor, but only two were large enough to make such a long sea voyage. A trio of men were running toward her. The Harbourmaster had heard the commotion and was on his way to sort it out.

"What's going on here?" he barked.

"Where is the ship to Kara-Tur?" Jaheira commanded him to tell her. "I have some questions for her captain."

"There's no ships scheduled for Kara-Tur," the Harbourmaster informed her bluntly. "Not for another three weeks at least, and only then if the weather is fair. If you're looking to get out of Athkatla in a hurry I can give you a discount on Thay if that's any help?"

"No ships to Kara-Tur?" Jaheira repeated slowly. "I couldn't catch one to Calimport and change?"

"We're a trading vessel," the man in the vines replied bad-temperedly. "We're making a dozen stops along the Sword Coast before we get home, and who knows the shipping schedule in Calimport? You might get stuck there for weeks. You're best off waiting for a direct voyage."

The druid's heart began to thump. She'd been right.

"Harbour master, did two Ilmatari try to book passage in the last two days?" she asked urgently. "A Kara-Turan man and a northern girl? Both human?"

The Harbourmaster shrugged.

"Haven't seen them."

"I see. You've been most helpful. Thank you," replied Jaheira. She turned and set off for the Copper Coronet at a run.


	47. Spellhold

Jaheira burst dramatically through the doors of the Copper Coronet, expecting the worst. Instead she found Anomen and Arowan playing cards with a grubby deck borrowed from Bernard, while Yoshimo idly ate a sandwich.

Vines erupted from the ground, entangling themselves about the thief's legs and ankles. His lunch tumbled to the floor, spilling its content for the tavern rats.

"What the hells woman?" yelped Yoshimo. "That was my chicken salad!"

"DAMN YOUR CHICKEN SALAD!" Jaheira screamed. "YOU LIED TO US!"

"Mum, calm down!" Arowan began.

Yoshimo hacked frantically at the vines with his katana, managing to escape their clutches long enough to run to his wife, who was already on her feet.

"Get away from her! Arowan, there is no boat to Kara-Tur!" the druid shouted. "I went to the docks myself and checked. Wherever he's taking you it isn't to meet his mother!"

"I know," she replied gently, but there was no diffusing this situation.

"You _know?_" Jaheira cried incredulously.

"Mum, I'm really, really sorry about this," Arowan said. "I'll explain when we get back."

She shot a fire arrow into Jaheira's ankle and ran.

At first the rest of the party were too blindsided to register what had just happened, but their leader's shriek of pain and fury brought them back to their senses. Viconia ripped the missile out roughly and cast a hasty healing spell, before they took off after Anomen and Rasaad who were already out the door.

"Shit!" Arowan panicked as they ran. "What do we do?"

"Lose them and get through the portal to Spellhold quickly," Yoshimo panted. "We'll be alright as long as we keep our heads. This way!"

There were steps leading up to the roof of the Copper Coronet, and from there it was a short jump onto the nearest rooftop. The thief was well practised in roof running and while Arowan was lacking in strength she had endurance and stamina in near limitless supply. The same could not be said of the rest of the party.

They lost Anomen first. His heavy armour was too much for the rickety rooves of Athkatla's slums. He crashed through one of them into the dining room of an extremely angry housewife, who beat him from the debris with her mop, ignoring his attempts to apologise.

Next to go was Viconia. The Ilmatari skidded to a halt at the gutters of the last house on the row, and slid down a drainpipe to the street. The drow tried to follow, but lost her footing on the slimy gutter moss and fell with a shriek. She landed conscious but in agony, having broken both legs. By the time she had healed herself, the chase had moved on.

Jaheira was determined, but simply unable to keep pace with her quarry. In the wilds she might have transformed into an animal and caught them that way, but it was no use in the city against two lovers running through it like gutter rats. Escaping Rasaad, however, was another matter entirely. They might have mocked his 'ninja monk moves' in the Twofold Temple, but they weren't laughing now.

"I think we've lost all of them except for the monk!" Yoshimo panted.

"I've been trying to lose the monk for years," Arowan replied sourly. "It's easier said than done."

They had scaled another building and were looking down at him, but he was climbing after with ruthless determination. The ranger shot a fire arrow into his arm, but Rasaad realised that they would not intentionally kill him and climbed on. He would soon be too high to shoot without sending him falling to his death. She fired another arrow directly into his hand and he let go of the wall with a yell.

Yoshimo and Arowan saw him glaring up at them from the ground, pulling the arrows out and chugging a healing potion. They turned and fled on, sending loose tiles skittering to the ground as they headed toward Waukeen's Promenade.

Rasaad had not given up, however. Merely switched tactics. He was in better shape than any of them and had grown up an orphan on the streets of Calimport. Losing angry merchants in alleys was second nature to him, and even from the ground he instinctively knew the easiest path to take across these rooftops. He followed them from street level, hiding in shadows, watching them help each other across the wider gaps. Till in the end they climbed down again and, believing that they had escaped the others, walked calmly into the marketplace with all the other shoppers.

The monk froze when he realised where it was they were going. Into the blown-out rubble of Irenicus's lair. He had never entered the place himself, but he had heard about it from the others. He knew that this was where Freya and Khalid had met their horrible ends, and he could not believe that these two were walking in there of their own free will.

At the entrance he paused, unsure of whether to go on or return to report to Jaheira. Yet deep down there was a part of him that still cared about what happened to Arowan. He might have resented her a happy-ever-after, but he would not go so far as to wish her serious harm.

He was surprised to find the place entirely unguarded, save for a lone svirfneblin whom he quickly dispatched. These eerie dungeon corridors were empty of everyone and everything, though a strange smell of blood and death lingered in the air. The deeper he descended, following the Ilmataris' echoing footsteps, the odder it seemed, until finally he arrived at the one room that still had something in it.

A shimmering blue portal, leading to a small office with a desk. Beyond it he could make out the slightly blurred forms of Arowan and Yoshimo. They were talking to Irenicus, who was reclining in a chair, and showing no signs of attacking them.

Rasaad ducked back into the corridor quickly, before he was spotted. He backed up to the surface as fast as he could, panting and trying to make sense of what he had just seen.

As soon as he reached daylight he retraced his steps at a gallop, sending shopping an shoppers alike sprawling into the street. Apart from Anomen (who he found desperately trying to reason with the woman whose roof he had just destroyed) the others had had the common sense to go back to the Copper Coronet.

Bernard was hovering around nervously but the rest of the tavern was virtually deserted. Only the most diehard brawlers were still clinging on at this point. He led them into a private dining room. The table had been set for dinner but the revellers who had made the reservation were too badly beaten to use it.

When Rasaad explained to Jaheira what he had just witnessed, the druid shocked them all by ripping her hair from her head and hurling it down on the table. Beneath it her natural scalp, scarred and patchy from her accident over a decade ago, burned as scarlet as her face.

"THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE!" she screamed. "HOW CAN AROWAN BE IN LEAGUE WITH THE MAN RESPONSIBLE FOR HER OWN FATHER'S DEATH?"

"You say that," Viconia replied slyly, once she'd recovered from the shock of the hair. "But consider the other company your so-called daughter keeps. Secret conversations with Firkraag? Dorn Il-Khan? She was always a little too sympathetic to Caelar Argent if you ask me, and didn't she insist on sparing a vampire and resurrecting Dark Moon monks? How sure are you that _she_ isn't evil?"

Given the circumstances, Jaheira actually had to pause to consider this.

"I'm sure," she said coldly, picking up her wig and placing it onto her head, where the enchantments upon it immediately sealed the hairline.

"Erm… should I be here?" Bernard piped up tentatively. Nobody paid him any attention.

"What about your escape from Irenicus's lair?" Viconia asked, softly laying down her trump card. "Didn't you say that your weapons were sitting in a box waiting for you? Wasn't Yoshimo wandering about the dungeon freely? Arowan was there all that time but survived without a scratch on her, when the Hero of Baldur's Gate was killed. Doesn't any of this strike you as suspicious? Because from where I'm standing it looks as though he chose to let them go."

The druid's eyes narrowed and her knuckles whitened about her staff. Yes. It did strike her as odd, and it always had. She had come to trust Yoshimo despite all of this, only because she was convinced of his devotion to Arowan. It had never occurred to her that her daughter might be in on it as well. It looked bad. Worse than bad, and yet…

"Arowan would never willingly side with Khalid's killer," Jaheira said grimly. "Whatever they're doing, they're doing it under duress. Maybe Irenicus threatened to hurt _me _if she didn't cooperate."

"She would know that you wouldn't want her to work for him, even to save your life," Rasaad pointed out.

"She also knew that Khalid and I wouldn't want her to drink numbing potions and let Irenicus capture her," Jaheira said quietly. "But she did it just the same."

She looked into the embers of the unlit fire and bowed her head. When she raised it again they could tell that she had come to a decision.

"I'm going after her," Jaheira declared boldly. "She'd do the same for me."

Viconia shrugged and wound a lock of silver hair around her fingers.

"Well it was nice knowing you," she lied.

Anomen rose to his feet, hand on the hilt of his sword. His expression was resolute and the drow groaned inwardly at the noble gesture that was surely about to come. Predictably enough he insisted that he could not allow Jaheira to go alone, nor leave Arowan to her fate.

"I must ask for a leave of absence from your service, Servant of all Faiths," he said formally. "Without these two, I would not be standing here at all. I am honour bound to aid them."

"Oh very well!" Viconia snapped, disappointed. "Come then Rasaad, let us leave the city while there is still light, lest we find ourselves overrun with paladins."

Rasaad's face was set. She knew that expression. It was his best stubborn-monk face and it was absolutely immovable.

"No…" groaned Viconia. "Fickle, sheep-minded male! Even if you save her life, she will not thank you for it!"

"I have saved your life countless times," Rasaad replied calmly. "You have never thanked me for it."

"Inform the Harpers of where I am going," Jaheira said to Bernard. Her face was pale. There were few things that she was afraid of, but walking back into Irenicus's clutches was one of them. "I may not be returning."

Bernard looked like he wanted to argue, but instead he swallowed and nodded.

"This is suicide!" Viconia screeched, unable to believe the idiocy of her companions. That she and Jaheira had escaped Irenicus once was little short of miraculous. To tempt fate in this way again was insane. "We do not stand a chance against him! He skinned Freya alive! _Freya!_"

"He was only able to defeat her by trickery and chance," Rasaad said.

"Arrogant male! He will obliterate you in seconds without her by your side!" the drow screeched. "I tell you, we are all going to die!"

"Nobody is making you come!" Jaheira snapped. Viconia was torn. She feared Irenicus. Going after him was a near-certain death sentence. Yet so was being a lone drow on the surface. At least this way she got to keep Rasaad.

"Viconia does have a point though," the monk said quietly. "I have encountered our enemy myself on multiple occasions and was unable even to attempt to fight back. What can we possibly do?"

It was at this point that Bernard chose to make a suggestion. It was the barkeeper's only significant contribution to history in his entire service to the Harpers. It was also a highly regrettable one.

"What about that half-orc you asked me to keep an eye on?" Bernard asked Jaheira innocently. "If he's been hanging around Athkatla all this time waiting for Arowan he's not going to want her killed. Big, strong brute of a fellow he is. Maybe he'd help you rescue her?"

"No!" Viconia exclaimed.

"He might," Jaheira conceded. It was not an idea she relished, but they were low on options.

"No!" repeated Viconia, much louder this time.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't there some rather unpleasant visions concerning myself and Dorn Il-Khan?" Anomen ventured uneasily.

"Yes, but remember Kveroslava, the fortune teller in Trademeet?" Jaheira replied. She seemed to be trying to talk herself into it. "She predicted that you were destined to defeat him, which means that the two of you must meet at some point. It's unavoidable."

"NO!" screeched Viconia, kicking over the table in her fury. "Dorn tried to murder me! He chased me through the streets of Baldur's Gate, though the gods themselves tried to block his way!"

"But when he reached you, Freya and I were waiting in ambush," Rasaad reminded her. "And the three of us together could not kill him. He is the only one we can turn to who might survive a battle with Irenicus. I do not want to do this, Viconia, but I fear we have no choice."

"We have a choice!" she spat back. "We could walk away! But if you are still in love with the ranger-"

"It has nothing to do with Arowan!" Rasaad thundered, squaring up to her. "I have walked away from the Sun Soul, defended the Twofold Heretics and share my heart with a follower of Shar. If I bend my morals any further, Viconia, I will break! I cannot run away a coward, leaving two of my party to their deaths!"

Viconia was shaking with rage, but in spite of everything, she _did _understand. Since coming to the surface her entire perception of right and wrong had been shaken to its foundations. She had tried to adapt, though nobody ever seemed to appreciate her efforts. Yet sometimes she came across situations where adopting the surfacer mindset was simply a bridge too far. Rasaad had reached that point. Perhaps she could whip him into leaving with her, but he would not be the same man afterwards if she did.

"Dorn Il-Khan it is then, fools!" she hissed. "And may the gods preserve us all."

* * *

* * *

Dorn said nothing in response to their invitation. He only smiled.

They found him with his gear packed and fully armoured, waiting at the door to the Crooked Crane as though he had been expecting them. He grinned particularly broadly at Viconia, who tried to slink into Rasaad's shadow. The monk glared at the half-orc threateningly, but Dorn took no notice.

Nor did he show anything beyond mild disappointment at the lack of enemies as they descended into Irenicus's former lair. Jaheira, by contrast, stumbled twice and had to be caught by Anomen and Rasaad. The bloodstained rooms might be empty now, but she remembered well enough what they had once contained.

"Do not trouble yourself, half-elf," Dorn said with a smile that was not remotely reassuring. "My patron and I will not permit the Little Lamb to come to harm."

Rasaad made a sceptical sound. Dorn rounded on him, and on Viconia who was being careful to ensure that the monk walked between them at all times.

"Nor should you be so concerned, drow," the half-orc growled. "Do not mistake me. I would part your head from your shoulders in an instant if I could, but we see now that it is impossible. After our encounter in Baldur's Gate I will not attempt to slay you again."

"Your stench could slay me in this confined space!" Viconia retorted hatefully.

"Quiet both of you, it is around this next corner!" Rasaad whispered.

They leapt out into the portal room ready for a fight, but found the office on the other side was empty. Yoshimo and Arowan had gone, and Irenicus with them. Cautiously they ventured into the small room. Red-brown stains on the desk told Jaheira that he had not given up on his 'experiments' since relocating, but the marks were old. Too old to be her family's. A brief rummage through the paperwork revealed nothing but a diary of Irenicus's. Mostly it detailed anatomical diagrams that were clearly and disturbingly drawn from life, but there were also some personal notes contained within. The most recent read;

'_My condition grows worse and what I remember of my home is fleeting. The deterioration of my body has been hastened by battles first with Freya, then Bubbles and most destructively with Kangaax. I see images of family whose names I no longer recall and dream of emotions I no longer feel as vividly. Perhaps this is what it feels like to live on Numbing Potions, but if so, I cannot conceive why addicts choose to take them._

_Bodhi endured the curse much better than I do now, but she was more focussed and more importantly, undead. Despite its failure to counteract the death sentence she was under, she embraces vampirism. She has even alluded once or twice to 'going further' into undeath with the aid of that filthy necromancer Bubbles. I do not know precisely what she means by this, but it matters not. If Arowan's plan is successful I will have Sarevok and Bubbles will be dead.'_

Jaheira broke off reading aloud.

"Arowan's plan?" she echoed. "No, that cannot be right…"

'_I would pity her and my 'sister' if I were capable, but emotions only come to me in violent outbursts. Ellesime has taken away my ability to truly feel. Bodhi seems to have regained hers with the piece of Imoen's soul I imparted to her, along with an insatiable appetite for blood and knights. Ideally both at once. She has turned a number of squires and paladins in recent weeks, setting up a grotesque 'court' in the Graveyard District._

_Of all the fragments of Bhaalspawn soul that comprise Imoen, I selected Draxle as the weakest. I am coming to regret this choice, for her revolting influence over my 'sister.' I have heard as much human poetry as my weakened guts can stomach! Yet it makes me more grateful to Yoshimo and Arowan than ever for their helpful suggestion. If this tiny fragment of Draxle's soul turned Bodhi into a blushing princess, no doubt Eric would have rendered me a coward, and Arowan plagued me with guilt. Sarevok was a man of strength and ruthless ambition. His will be a soul to my taste. _

"Grateful to Arowan and Yoshimo?" Jaheira repeated weakly. "I don't understand… wait, what's that?"

They froze. Clicking footsteps were approaching, not from deeper in the building but from the other side of the portal. The party looked at each other in panic, apart from Dorn who was cheerfully drawing Rancor. Rasaad silently reached behind him and opened the door, beckoning the others through it, before seizing Dorn and half-dragging him after them.

It led to a vacant main hall, lined with pillars and decorated with a vast golden carpet. Vast but threadbare. This place looked as though it might once have been very grand, but those days were in the distant past. Two more doors led off from it. The hall was wide open and empty, apart from one warden, a hunched jittery man holding a key.

Footsteps were still approaching and the door they had just come through swung open to reveal Bubbles and Bodhi, with Shank and Carbos lumbering along behind them. Both women looked different. Bubbles was not wearing her usual costume of lacy robes with bright silk, but a plain blue smock. She had dispensed with the makeup and her hair was bound back in a simple bun. For once the necromancer looked her actual age which, Jaheira realised, was not very much older than Arowan.

Bodhi was in her usual revealing black leathers, but there were some alterations. For one thing she was wearing a veil, clamped to her head by a pretty silver tiara. She had painted her nails to match and added some embroidery to her bodice. It was clumsy embroidery that had warped the fabric with fat uneven stitches. She appeared to have attempted to sew it herself.

At first, they did not see the party, so deep were they in discussion.

"Something is wrong!" Bodhi was insisting. "Calling us here a day early? The dead svirfneblin at the door? I'm telling you he suspects something. What if he knows about the coat?"

"What if he does?" Bubbles replied disinterestedly. "Why should he care if you made a phylactery out of it? He's getting what he wanted. We all are. Even Eric." She smiled, revealing her rotting teeth. "He put me under this geas to bring him back after all, and at long last his wish will be granted."

She looked up and froze at the sight of the party. They had all drawn their weapons and were hunkering into a defensive ring.

"Who do we have here?" Bodhi smiled, her little fangs poking over her lip. Her eyes roved over Anomen with interest. He was not technically a knight, having been expelled from the Order, but he was close enough for her. Not to mention handsomer than any of her courtly fledglings thus far. "What fun."

"Ah. I believe we have found the explanation for your dead doorman," Bubbles said. She batted away Shank, who was reaching for her brain affectionately. "We have some unexpected visitors. What are you doing here dearies?"

"Where's Arowan?" Jaheira barked, slamming her staff on the ground.

"Through the door to the right," Bubbles replied swiftly. "Warden, let them through, would you?"

The little man opened the door and the necromancer gestured them through it. Their only options were to fight them, or to walk through the door with her. Jaheira chose the latter for the time being. Bubbles shut the door behind them, leaving Bodhi and the warden on the other side, and locked it with a click.

They were at the end of a long hallway lined with doors. A stench of stale urine and cabbage lingered in the air. There was no natural light, yet it was unpleasantly bright, lit from above by magical glowing balls.

"What is this place?" grunted Dorn.

"We are in the asylum at Spellhold," Bubbles replied apologetically. "I'm sorry, you are in for a rough night. Some of the inmates scream in their sleep. Try to avoid them if you can, they're very disturbed, poor creatures. I'll let you out in the morning when the ritual is complete."

"You mean to take us prisoner?" Jaheira asked matter-of-factly.

"Well… I mean… prisoner is a very strong word," Bubbles floundered. She had been a slave to many masters and still was to the geas ring. The idea of taking prisoners did not sit comfortably with her. "Let us say that you are temporarily incarcerated for your own safety. I don't know if you noticed how Bodhi was eyeing up your young man but, er, best you keep out of the way tonight. She's developed an appetite for knights. In all senses of the word, if you catch my drift."

"I'd rather die!" Anomen cried, horror-struck. Bubbles looked at him pityingly.

"That would be part of the arrangement, yes," she told him. "Which is why you'll be staying put until the ritual is complete. We're setting up now. Chins up! This time tomorrow we'll be back in Athkatla and this will all be over. None of us will ever see Bodhi or her brother again, with any luck."

"Where is Arowan?" Jaheira begged. "What is happening?"

"Didn't she and Yoshimo tell you _anything?_ Arowan is not a strong Bhaalspawn," Bubbles explained kindly. "She doesn't possess much of her father's essence. Did she ever happen to mention Eric to you?"

"We've met Eric," Jaheira replied. Albeit briefly, on the way to his own execution.

"Did you?" Something flickered in the necromancer's eyes. Something sad. "He and I were together in the Black Pits. Before Irenicus took him away, Eric transferred his necromantic powers to this ring, and put me under a geas to resurrect him if he died. Bringing back a Bhaalspawn is not straightforward. There's no body, you see. But between us, Irenicus and I have found a way to do it. He gets his more powerful Bhaalspawn. Arowan and I, and you, get to go free."

"Then why is she here?"

"A backup," replied Bubbles. "Irenicus insisted. She's just a backup, in case the ritual fails, but don't worry sweethearts. It won't."

"She's been lying to us all this time," Jaheira sighed, sitting down heavily. Then her head snapped up. "And Yoshimo?"

"Under a geas, just like me," the necromancer replied sympathetically. "But it's only one more day. This is almost over. Just hang in there."

With a last, supportive little nod, she teleported away. Rasaad and Viconia ran to the door, peering out through the bars, but the hall was empty now save for the two hulking figures of Shank and Carbos standing guard over them. Presumably in case Bodhi came down in search of a midnight snack.

"Who- who… who is that? Keep back. Keep back!"

They turned around. An inmate, a pale girl in a hospital gown that she was clutching tightly about her had come up behind them in the corridor. She had lost a lot of weight and her hair had thinned from stress, but the pink colour was unmistakable.

"Imoen!" Rasaad cried.

"Who is Imoen?" the girl trembled.

"Imoen, where is Arowan?" Jaheira asked harshly. The chimera had struck the killing blow against Khalid, and his wife would never forgive her for it.

Imoen's face slackened. She looked from one intruder to the next with a relaxed sort of vibe.

"Arowan? Arowan is, like, right here dudes," Imoen replied, pointing at her temple. Alarmingly, her face contorted and when she next spoke her voice was deep and gruff. "It Draxle what gone. Need Draxle. You find!" Imoen's lips and jaw spasmed horribly as though multiple people were fighting to gain control of her voice. She made a few confused gurgling sounds before Arowan's sardonic opinion broke through. "Hey, since I'm the only one still alive maybe I ought to be the priority here?"

"By the gods," Rasaad breathed, fascinated and appalled in equal measure. "Irenicus has split her soul into its component parts. There are twelve pieces of people in there."

"Eleven damn it!" Imoen replied. Suddenly she was standing up straighter, her head thrown back and stance wide with confidence. "We're missing Draxle. Twelve minus one is eleven. Fucking hell Rasaad, and people say _I'm_ dumb!"

"We should put this creature out of its misery," Dorn suggested. Beside him Viconia nodded in agreement.

"Get away!" Imoen sobbed, crumpling into a pathetic ball on the floor and rocking back and forth. "GET AWAY!"


	48. The Ritual

Arowan lay in silence with her head on Yoshimo's chest. Irenicus had put them in one of the rooms that had once belonged to the Cowled Wizards. It was completely unheated, and reeked of the mouldering remains of its owners' last abandoned meal. They'd tossed the source out of the window plate and all, but the stench had had a long time to spread out and make itself at home.

Eventually she fell asleep. She must have done, for in the morning she remembered the wails of those trapped below disturbing her dreams. Imoen was down there somewhere but she tried not to think about that.

By the time the first rays of dawn shone through the window they were both already awake, and going through the ritual of washing, dressing and eating a little food from their packs. She had been worried before, but worried in a distant hypothetical sort of way. It was easy to plan for and rationalize an event that was months, weeks or even days away. Yet today was the day when her fate would be sealed. Freedom, or tortured to death. There was no in between.

Once they were ready, they held each other for a long time, but it was agony to postpone the moment of truth. Hand in hand they walked down the stairs and into the ritual room that Bubbles had prepared the night before.

"Keep to the walls if you can dearies. Try not to smudge the chalk markings," she said.

"You look… different," Arowan ventured tentatively.

Bubbles looked down at her plain dress. It was indeed a contrast to her usual silks and frills. There was no corset now to crush her ribs or push up her breasts, and her face was clean of makeup. The Ilmatari had always assumed that she was hiding something hideous beneath the crusted layers of powder but aside from her teeth, Bubbles looked no better nor worse than any other twenty-something year old.

"You know, until Eric gave me this ring, I never had any power," the necromancer reflected. "I don't just mean magical power; most people don't have that. I mean even the basic power to choose where I lived, or what I had for breakfast, or who I slept with. When I came back to Athkatla with his powers it wasn't long before the locals all knew who I was."

The corners of her mouth curled slightly, and she looked at them with the eyes of someone who had seen far too much in her short life.

"The richest merchants, the cruellest pimps and even the noble ladies were all frightened of me. I can't tell you how _satisfying _it was to see them bobbing and curtseying to a common whore," she went on. "The more they did it, the more I played it up, until it became like a uniform… but I want to face Eric as me."

Arowan stared at the runes scribbled onto the floor. They were three interlocked circles, inscribed with symbols. One of them was the grinning skull that symbolized Bhaal, surrounded by blood droplets. She hoped that the spell did not rely on the artistic talent of the caster, because it was not a very good skull.

The second circle was inscribed with symbols denoting destruction. Swords and thunder, hammers and arrows. In the very centre of it, they had placed the Ring of Gaax. The third circle had been left incomplete, and this was so that Bubbles could make her own way into the middle of it, before crouching down and sealing herself in with runes.

Irenicus appeared at the doorway, pushed in a chair by Bodhi. He was smirking at Bubbles in a way that Yoshimo felt sure would make her suspicious, but she seemed to put his good mood down to almost having Eric in his clutches.

"Begin!" he commanded.

Bubbles looked around her at the floor, double checking that everything was as it should be. The Ilmatari flattened themselves against the cold stone wall, hearts hammering.

"I really should have gone to the bathroom before I sealed the circle," the necromancer sighed. "Ah well. _Vivens in omnibus imitantur mores!"_

As she recited her words the circles lit up and the ground beneath them began to shake. The scorched hellscape of the Abyss started trembling too. Fault lines appeared between the occupants and lava oozed from the new cracks.

"Now what?" Freya growled, abandoning her daily sport of hunting Sarevok to see Eric hurtling toward her. He had no mewling babies in his arms this time.

"It's happening!" he cried.

Sure enough, before them a twisting vortex of red dust, like a sideways tornado, was opening up. A bridge between their existence and the mortal plane. Sarevok emerged from behind a pillar of rock and hope exploded in his heart like fireworks.

"Well would you look at that," the skinless dog said, sniffing at the vortex. Her cold, black nose was the only part of her that still resembled a normal animal. "Good thing I love a game of tug of war. Bring it on."

She plunged her teeth bone-deep into Eric's legs. The deceased necromancer howled and wept in agony but there was no way the werewolf's grip was going to loosen. Bubbles's only options would be to give up, pull both of them through or rip him in half. Sarevok braced himself and waited for his chance.

"_Transite in mundo ubi iam fuere!"_

The other end of the vortex was howling like a gale in the ritual room. Arowan and Yoshimo clung to each other for dear life, their hair whipping around their faces. Bodhi's jaw was scraping her neck. In his eagerness, Irenicus leaned so far forward in his chair that he almost toppled out of it.

The Ilmatari could no longer hear Bubbles over the sound of the screaming wind and they realised that they would not be able to hear when she called the word 'vita.' Very quietly, in the tiniest whisper, Arowan began to chant 'Sarevok' over an over again, hoping that when the moment finally came she would beat Bubbles to it.

Down in the asylum, Imoen had flung herself flat on the floor, shaking as though she were having a fit. Viconia held onto Rasaad as the walls around them tremored ever more violently. Large chunks of mortar were crumbling away from between the bricks.

"What are they doing up there?" Jaheira had to bellow to make herself heard.

"I don't know, but it's going to bring the place down on top of us!" Dorn hollered back. "We must get out of here!"

"Let us out!" the druid screamed through the bars at the warden, but the hunched little man seemed to be as insane as the inmates. He gazed vacantly into space and kept repeating over and over that it wasn't on the timetable. Jaheira turned back to Anomen in despair. "He's a madman! I may as well try to persuade Shank and Carbos!"

Viconia gasped, and threw herself at the door, shoving Rasaad off her in the process.

"What are you doing?" cried Jaheira.

"Remember in the tavern, how Arowan got them to leave that dwarf alone?" the drow replied, her red eyes flashing. "Shank! Carbos! Bubbles is in here and she is going to be crushed to death. Quick, come and save her. Bring the key!"

The zombies tripped over themselves to obey, smashing the warden into a bloody pulp and scooping their way through the mush to find the key. Viconia stretched her fingers through the bars and Shank gave it to her. When the party let themselves out, the zombies cannoned through the two women in their eagerness to find Bubbles. Rasaad stood aside, but Dorn had not hacked anything apart in an age.

The first sweep of Rancor sliced off the top of Shank's skull like a watermelon, bisecting the shrivelled remains of his brain. As the lower half of the zombie fell, the enchantments upon it finally dispersed and a powerful stench of death filled the corridor. Imoen vomited, but immediately straightened up.

"Get a fucking grip you lot!" the part of her that was Freya berated her other personalities. "This is a human nose we're working with here. I can barely even smell it! Here- that's mine!"

Imoen seized a long-unused sword protruding from Rasaad's backpack, failing to realise that in this body she had neither the strength nor the height to take it so easily. The monk, having no use for it himself, handed it to her.

It was the sword that Freya had 'inherited' from Sarevok, though before it had belonged to either of them it had been the preferred weapon of Bhaal when he'd walked the world in mortal form. With a noise somewhere between a battle cry and a snarl, Imoen hacked at Carbos madly. She barely had the strength to lift the blade but was making progress through the power of raw aggression, and the undead hulk's slow response.

"Enough, we must move!" Dorn growled, chopping through the second zombie's brain in the same manner. All the worms that the enchantments had been keeping penned into Carbos's body burst out upon his final destruction. The party, followed by Imoen, trampled them as they made their way into the gold carpeted hall.

"This way!" cried Jaheira, gesturing with her staff to the only doorway they had not passed through already.

They felt the wind before they saw the vortex and the hellscape beyond it, but it was so loud that nobody heard them arrive. Arowan's face was buried into Yoshimo's neck, her lips still mouthing Sarevok's name, while the thief was watching Bubbles intently, trying to lip-read.

Sharran and Selunite had been to Avernus so knew that they were not looking into hell itself, but something very similar. In the swirling centre of the link between planes they could see Eric and the skinless dog that was Freya biting on for dear life. Behind them loomed a huge, bald man who looked a bit like Rasaad.

"_Vita!"_

"SAREVOK!"

Irenicus cried out triumphantly. There was a deafening sound like thunder striking yards away, and the Ring of Gaax broke into two. For a few brief moments it robbed all of them of the ability to hear anything except a high tinny whistle. The centre of the vortex changed direction, focusing on the bald man. They watched as Freya wrenched her jaws free of Eric and bounded at Sarevok but it was already too late. He was lunging at the portal, hurling himself through it, in ignorance of what awaited him beyond.

Arowan and Yoshimo opened their eyes, and the first thing they saw was Bubbles. Her eyes widened in panic and disbelief, before her whole body contorted in pain. They could not hear her screaming, but she collapsed to the floor writhing and convulsing as the geas took her. The ranger's fingernails began to rake over her scar until her fingertips came away red with blood, until Yoshimo registered what she was doing and seized her wrist.

In seconds it was over. The tornado-like link between the two worlds blew itself out and dissipated in a cloud of dust. Bubbles twitched her last and lay covered in the scuffed white chalk that she had so carefully inscribed onto the floor. Her wide eyes stared up at nothing.

The ring of Gaax lay broken in one circle, Bubbles dead in another but in the third was the prize for which they had both been sacrificed. He was naked, fatigued and dripping with sweat but unquestionably alive.

"I live!" Sarevok cried, rising to his feet.

"Now _that_ is what I call a demigod!" purred Viconia. Rasaad's hearing had just returned sufficiently for him to catch that remark, and he scowled. Sarevok was marvelling at his hands (though that wasn't the part of him that had caught everyone else's attention) and was flexing his fingers, overjoyed.

"Flesh and blood and bone! I am alive! Ha ha!" he boomed. "I swore that I would scratch and claw my way back into the world of the living and I have done it!"

A slow clapping came from the doorway. It was Irenicus, hunched in his chair, his useless shrivelled legs dangling to the ground.

"Yes you have, haven't you?" he greeted him. "And how do you feel, my Bhaalspawn? Healthy? Powerful?"

Sarevok turned golden glowing eyes upon him. He had lost none of his god essence. Everything had been dragged back with him, ready for him to try again. His first plan for ascension, to spark a blood bath, had been a nonsense and he realised that now. As for his drive to slay all the other Bhaalspawn, well that had been a trick of his father's. The residual will of Bhaal inside each of them telling them to slaughter each other so that he could reform.

"I feel all of that," Sarevok declared brashly. "And wiser too. Who have I to thank for my return? I promise you that you shall stand at the right hand of a god when I claim my birth right at last."

Irenicus smiled, snakelike. Tucked away behind the rest of the party, Imoen began to laugh quietly. It was Eric's laugh, though nobody alive in the room had heard it to recognize it.

"Not truly dead, nor truly alive," Anomen recoiled at Sarevok. "This thing is an abomination!"

For the first time, the Ilmatari realised that their party had followed them into Spellhold. Arowan raised her eyes from Bubbles's corpse, horror-struck.

"And how did you escape from your cage, pretty bird?" Bodhi asked the cleric sweetly. Anomen flinched.

"What are you doing here Jaheira? Go home!" cried Arowan. Then her eyes lit upon Dorn Il-Khan, looming between Anomen and the Servant of all Faiths. She screamed.

"SILENCE!" Irenicus thundered. "Or I might forget our deal. I have no time for the squabbling of insects. Bodhi! I trust the necessary arrangements are in place for part two of our ritual?"

"Yes," the vampire quivered. Bubbles was dead. Once again her brother's schemes had claimed another victim without warning. She wondered when it would be her own turn but thought with some comfort of her lovely golden coat tucked away in her coffin.

"Where are my clothes and weapons?" demanded Sarevok, who had not grasped the reality of the situation. He was still under the impression that it was his loyal followers who had brought him back from the dead. "Tell me what remains of my resources and allies? We must act quickly. What are you waiting for? Move!"

"You are intent on godhood, or reclaiming your mortal life or whatever, but I don't really care," replied Irenicus indifferently. "You can do nothing now. Your fate was sealed since before you arrived."

The short walk to the next room was beyond his ruined legs, but it made no difference. He teleported them all to where he wished them to be. Sarevok found himself in a glass tank with tubes and wires running from the top of the dome. He pounded the insides uselessly with bare hands.

"What is this?" he blazed. "What do you think you are doing?"

"You will find that you are powerless," Irenicus taunted him. "Your rage is for naught. You thoughtlessly ran back to mortal life spurning your chance to become part of a god, but don't worry. You won't have to dwell on your foolishness for long. Your life ends today."

Sarevok roared and hurled his considerable strength against the tank from all angles, but succeeded only in bruising himself.

Hovering at the side of the room with Yoshimo, Arowan could see now why she was here. If resurrecting a better Bhaalspawn had failed he would have needed his backup on hand. Wasting time finding her would have meant having to set all of this up again. Joined to Sarevok's tank were six others, each containing a Shadow Thief. They were shackled immobile, their bodies covered in tubes circulating fluids in and out of them. Their eyes bulged with fear, pain or both like squeezed guinea-pigs.

"Dude, you want to get out of there if you can," Imoen advised the trapped Bhaalspawn unhelpfully. "I was in that tank. It's seriously uncool."

"Silence chimera," Irenicus warned her.

"What did you do to her?" asked Arowan, though her common sense told her to keep quiet.

"It was necessary to split her patchwork soul into its component pieces in order to extract one for Bodhi," Irenicus replied, with just a hint of pride. "Not an easy task, we had to try many different experiments did we not Imoen? But we achieved it in the end. I kept her alive afterwards out of curiosity. I wanted to see whether the remaining fragments would reform, but it does not look like it, and caring for her grows burdensome. Still, one problem at a time. For now, Sarevok, I must focus on you."

"I will not help you," the naked man growled ferociously. Viconia's pupils dilated.

"You assume that you are a volunteer," Irenicus sneered, "But I do not need your cooperation. I will take your essence regardless. You see those Shadow Thieves in the tanks? They are the fruit of Bodhi's guild war. This device of mine will channel their souls to you and dislodge yours like one ball knocking another. And I will collect it."

He teleported himself into one last empty tank, closed his eyes and lay back as though about to enjoy a pedicure.

The ritual was far less elaborate than Bubbles's had been. Bodhi simply flicked a switch, and one by one the tanks crackled with blue lightening. The captured thieves jerked and died, their deaths mercifully quick, but as their souls tried to leave their bodies the tubes vacuumed them up, spitting them one by one at Sarevok.

He crumpled, too large by far to lie down in the tank, and ended up slumped in a U-shape. At first the party thought that he had been killed, but his eyes snapped open. The golden sphere of his divine soul hovered before him and he snatched at it, but to no avail.

Irenicus's machine sucked it through a tube and into his own pod, channelling it into his body, and releasing the used souls of the Shadow Thieves through a vent. The mage cried out in ecstasy, his eyes wide as though seeing the world properly for the first time in forever.

"Bodhi! Now!" he cried. She pulled another lever, opening the pods and rushed forward with healing potions. Sarevok sprawled out of his, drained but forcing himself to rise to his feet.

The vampire poured healing potion after potion down her 'brother's' throat, and this time they worked. Blood returned to his legs. They kicked and flexed, functional once more. With a roar of triumph, he sat up, unscrewing the more cumbersome bolts from his hands and tossing them aside. His ruined face knotted back together, the stitches bursting and tumbling to the ground.

"What have you done to me?" Sarevok howled. "I will kill you!"

"Well you are a strong one indeed," Irenicus replied, impressed despite himself. "You resist beyond all reason. What a shame that you are empty inside, with nothing but the mortal half of your soul to sustain you. The curse that was wrought against myself and Bodhi has ceased and yours has begun. You will wither, wane and die. Only this time there will be no Abyss. What is left of you is bound for the mortal afterlife and whatever punishment for your hubris awaits you there."

In desperation, Sarevok turned to the only face he recognized. Imoen's. He stumbled to her, clinging to her hospital gown for balance.

"Help me."

"She is in no position to help you, she cannot even help herself!" Irenicus crowed. "Bodhi, remove this nothing and Imoen as well, while I redirect the portal. Our friends in Urst Natha will be waiting for us."

"What about us?" Yoshimo cried hoarsely. He never liked to attract the mage's attention, but their deal had been with him and not Bodhi. Obviously he had forgotten all about them, and if he walked away his last chance of being released would leave with him.

"Ah yes, our deal," Irenicus mused. He stretched out, revelling in his strength and vitality. If there were such a thing as 'the right mood' with this man, they had caught him in it. "Yes, you have held up your end better than I could possibly have dreamed. Bodhi, release Yoshimo from the geas, and let these cretins go. We've no further use for them."

Bodhi turned excitedly to follow her brother, calling back gaily over her shoulder:

"You are released from the geas!"

Despite everything, Arowan's face split into a relieved smile and her grip clenched like a vice on Yoshimo's arm.

But Bodhi wasn't finished yet. She gestured at Imoen and at Sarevok who was still clutching at her gown. "Just as soon as you finish off these two for us."

"Pardon?" Arowan blinked.

"Kill them," Bodhi clarified.

She and her brother stalked away, leaving the party, Sarevok and Imoen hunkering in the room together. Yoshimo did not move, but the muscles around his brows were twitching and his eyes started to water. Gasping for breath, he drew his katana and stepped forward.

Rasaad moved to block his way, as did Anomen. Viconia found herself joining them, leaving the thief hopelessly outnumbered but bound by the geas to obey. Dorn, however, stayed put. He watched Arowan keenly from the shadows, his black eyes glittering.

"Traitor!" Anomen cried, "You will be cut down for this, so I do swear."

"You cannot win this fight," Rasaad told him. "Do not dishonour yourself further by attempting to slay an innocent girl before the end."

Yoshimo stumbled and dropped to his knees, his body wracked with pain. It hurt too badly to resist the geas. He raised his katana again and prepared to be cut down.

There was a very slow creak.

Everybody turned to its source and froze. Arowan had notched a fire arrow into her bow and pulled it back, aiming straight at Imoen.

"You took Dad from me," the ranger told her. "You carry a stolen piece of my soul. Now I'm supposed to lose Yoshimo for you as well?"

"Arowan, put the bow down and go to your husband," Jaheira advised her. "We both know that you're not capable of murder."

Only Rasaad knew differently. He felt sure, in his heart, that Arowan had slain Mazzy Fentan before the Shade Lord took her over. He made to throw himself between the ranger and Imoen, only to find the floor rushing up to meet him. The monk hit the ground with a painful crash and found that his ankles were bound by vines.

"This isn't murder," the ranger said. "Neither of them are really alive. Sarevok is an abomination that ought to have stayed in the afterlife. As for Imoen, there is no Imoen. Gorion's daughter died a long time ago. This thing that he made out of stolen pieces of soul is no more alive than Bubbles's zombies."

"Nobody has the right to decide but you Arowan," Jaheira said, as Rasaad tried to free his feet from her conjured plants. "If you've made your choice, then I won't let the others stop you. But it _is _murder."

"I say it is not murder. They're both dead already. Sarevok was killed by Freya and Imoen, the real Imoen, died in childhood." Arowan whispered in a calm but hollow voice.

"Arowan, _please!" _Imoen begged. Yoshimo clutched his throat and started to choke as the geas throttled him. The ranger squeezed her eyes shut. Dorn tightened his hand about Rancor, grinning silently. He alone could hear the monstrous laughter of his demonic patron ringing through the hilt.

"You're not really alive. You might as well ask me to let Yoshimo die to spare Shank and Carbos," the ranger said more coldly. "What's the point?"

The arrow whistled from her bow, flying with lethal accuracy past Rasaad and Anomen, before lodging with a thud between Imoen's eyes.

"Shank and Carbos are dead."


	49. The Underdark

It seemed to take Imoen an age to fall. Her body thudded against the ground with a horrible finality.

Rasaad stared at it, pain etched across his face. Yoshimo started to breathe again. Dorn and Jaheira wore satisfied expressions, though for very different reasons. With incredible stealth for a man of his size, the half-orc slipped out of the door.

Anomen was looking at Arowan almost pityingly, for he too had once slain innocents in a moment of madness. Viconia was watching the ranger with calculating ruby eyes. For the first time in the whole of their acquaintance there was a glimmer of something approaching respect.

Only two of them were moving. Arowan was already drawing another arrow, while Sarevok seized the sword from Imoen's body. The ranger would get one shot before he reached the door. He fancied his chances.

Yoshimo snatched up his katana and charged at Sarevok with a ferocity that they had never seen the good-humoured thief display before.

"Tamoko sends her regards you bastard!" he bellowed.

The naked warrior, who was already halfway to the door, parried him easily and sent him sprawling. Arowan's next arrow burned into his chest, and with no armour to block it the injury was obscenely painful even to a being of his power. Anomen was already after him. The Helmite may have been ready to save Imoen, and he fully intended to have words with Arowan about her death later, but there was no doubt as to what needed to be done about Sarevok.

Still comically unclothed, but with his deadly sword back in his possession at last, he sprinted away from them. Leaping the steps four at a time without the least notion of where he was going, he barged past the confused asylum inmates who were meandering out over the golden carpet.

"Get out of here, your jailors are all dead!" Arowan hollered at the incarcerated mages as she hurtled past them. "Run, before the Cowled Wizards come back!"

Sarevok reached the swirling blue portal and dived through it, having little choice. Yoshimo and Arowan were halfway toward it when each felt a hand on their arm. Viconia was trying to pull them back.

"Damn you!" spat Arowan and, forgetting that the gods would not permit the drow to die, turned her arrow upon Viconia.

"Hold it! Look where you're about to go!" the drow screeched, pointing. "That portal does not lead to Athkatla anymore!"

She was right. It was as dark as Irenicus's abandoned lair, but vaster and more feral. Stalactites the size of mountains hung from high above, illuminated by fluorescent algae that grew all over them. There was a grunt behind them, announcing that Dorn had reappeared.

"Where did you go?" Jaheira snapped.

"I retrieved this from the necromancer's corpse," Dorn grinned unpleasantly. He was holding up a ring set with two odd grey stones flecked with green. Arowan looked at it and flinched. "It belonged to your brother after all. I think you should have it."

"So that I can inherit Bubbles's geas?" Arowan sneered. "Nice try."

"My patron informs me that the geas is broken and gone Little Lamb, but Eric's dark power remains," Dorn rumbled, holding it out to her. "It is yours now."

"Oh well, if a _demon _says that it's safe to wear it then I can't wait to try it on," Arowan replied sarcastically.

"Only a fool would refuse such power," Dorn growled disapprovingly. "If I were you, I would relish this gift."

That made the ranger think twice. She held out her palm for Eric's ring and pocketed it quickly, but only to prevent Dorn from claiming it for himself. Beside her, Yoshimo began to look uncomfortable again, and her face contorted with alarm.

"We have to find Sarevok," she said urgently. "No matter what lies in this accursed cave."

"It's not a cave!" Viconia beseeched them, but they had already stepped through it and the others were following. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and followed them in. When she opened them she was home. "Welcome to the Underdark."

The great depths of the Underdark stretched out before them, and as their eyes adjusted to the dim light the reality of where they were began to sink in. Behind them stood the portal, but Yoshimo was bound by the geas until Sarevok died. They had no option but to go on.

"Viconia?" Jaheira found herself asking the drow's advice for the first time. "What do we do?"

"Die probably," the Sharran replied, though without conviction. Last time she had fled the Underdark alone and powerless. Now she had Rasaad, Dorn Il-Khan was with them, she was the Servant of all Faiths and once Sarevok was slaughtered they had an easy way out. She went on with more confidence, "We must tread with caution. Doubtless there are drow in this place alongside illithids, kuo-toa, beholders and perhaps even worse. The denizens here will expect no mercy and will offer none. If we are to survive long enough to find your Sarevok we must be stronger than any of them."

* * *

* * *

Treading with caution was not a luxury that Sarevok could afford. He had fled this way and that, losing himself but also his enemies amidst the cold rocky stalagmites. Something was dripping. He looked around for the source. The distraction cost him, for he ran straight into the web of a giant spider.

The silk was sticky but stronger than steel and he stuck fast. Wrenching and pulling at the threads only served to attract the creature's attention and it scuttled toward him, clicking its pincers excitedly. Concentrating all his effort into his sword arm, he managed to free it and hack at the arachnid.

It scampered back, watching him from a safe distance with its many eyes. Sarevok could not move his head so could only see the shadow of numerous legs scuttling at the edge of his vision. The spider had a rock-hard exoskeleton, but the sword of Bhaal was no common weapon.

The spider had stopped moving. It seemed content to wait for him to wear himself out struggling against the web. Only when he began to slice through the silk that he could reach (a feat no standard blade could have managed) did the creature change its mind. It lunged for Sarevok's immobile side, pincers opened wide, but he swung himself in a backward arc and struck it back-handed. His sword smacked it on the head and it retreated slightly, giving him time to hack loose a few more strands.

Perhaps he ought to have been petrified, but it felt _good _to finally confront an enemy against which he could fight back. He was exhausted and drained of his god-essence, but he was also alive again and he felt it!

Chopping himself loose, he tumbled to the floor, trying to rid himself of the shreds of spider silk that were impeding his movement. The spider, enraged at the sight of her spoiled web, made one last attempt on him. He ducked beneath the eight spindly legs and rammed his blade into her underbelly, where carapace and abdomen joined. The creature collapsed on top of him, but he kicked it off, wrenching out his blade.

The spider was injured and on its back, flailing desperately to right itself. He was about to finish it off for good when an angry murmuring came from the shadows, and Sarevok got the feeling that his fight was not over yet. Sure enough, a drow flanked by her two males emerged from the shadows wielding adamantine swords. They were speaking to him. He did not understand the words, but he had gloated his way through enough 'you're about to die' speeches to know one when he heard one.

"We'll see little elf. We'll see," Sarevok muttered.

He swung at her and she blocked his stroke, but it did not matter. Such was the difference in size and strength between them that he knocked her sword clean out of her hand and sent it clattering away into the darkness. She narrowed purple eyes at him and ran away, shouting an order to her escort as she did so.

"Xas Phaere," they replied.

The remaining drow were no match for Sarevok either but it was clear that they feared their mistress far more than merely dying. So they fought on without her. One of the males tried to intimidate him by performing a sort of spinning sword dance before attacking. This achieved nothing more than to earn a swipe to the sword arm.

The drow screamed in agony. Sarevok hastily ran him through, but not before the echoing screams must have been heard by every hostile creature in the cavern, including his pursuers.

That ranger, he recalled now, was a Bhaalspawn. How could he have forgotten her? Easily. She was an ordinary looking little mouse with an unmemorable face. Or at least he had thought so at the time, during their brief encounter when Irenicus had brought him into the Candlekeep Bhaalspawns' dreams. He had been so preoccupied with Freya that he had barely noticed her. Something had changed in the weaker sister, and not just that she was catching up in charisma. The cold-blooded murder of their sister Imoen was not an act he would have predicted from her.

That meant that the drow with her must be Viconia, the Servant of all Faiths. Courtesy of Amauna, all of the dead Bhaalspawn knew who she was. He must be careful not to harm her.

Spider was up and about again. The last remaining drow had taken advantage of his distraction to flip it back onto its legs. Alas, this did not have the effect that he had intended. Swivelling its multiple eyes from one piece of meat to the next, the spider decided to settle for the easiest meal. It scooped up the armless, dying drow and carried him up the wall, where it could watch the show while it ate. His blood dripped like red rain over Sarevok and the last drow.

Sensing that the end was near, the drow began to talk quickly. Perhaps attempting to reason with Sarevok, whom he must believe to be an escaped slave. Maybe he was making an offer. Whatever he was saying, the Bhaalspawn neither understood nor cared. His slashing sword met with feeble resistance, and the other man's neck opened for him with a satisfying squirt.

Arowan and the others would be coming, but he was still unclothed and it was cold down here. Already his bare feet were blistered and bleeding from running over barren rock. There was no point escaping them only to freeze to death in his sleep. He hastily undressed the drow and forced on his clothes and armour. It was not easy. He was much bigger than the dark elf and he could fasten only one clasp of the armour. It crushed him like a lady's corset, but some protection was better than none.

It had lost him precious time though. By the time he had crammed his foot into the second boot, the party were upon him and it was obvious that the ranger would show him no more mercy than she had their sister. The armour, shield and helmet he had scavenged from the drow, however uncomfortable, were adamantine and her arrows could not pierce it.

The Kara-Turan thief who had invoked Tamoko's name, was skewered by Sarevok's blade in seconds. Arowan screamed louder than the drow who'd lost an arm, much to Viconia's dismay. The ranger seemed to forget about Sarevok as she raced to Yoshimo's side.

"I will heal him. I will heal him rivvil but you _must _shut up!" the drow was pleading urgently. "There is more down here than just Irenicus and Sarevok. Screaming is a sign of weakness, you will bring down every predator for miles. For Shar's sake somebody shut her up! Jaheira!"

Arowan suddenly found her mouth muffled by something thick and hairy. Jaheira had adopted her bear form and placed her thick arm firmly over her mouth and nose. Eventually she was forced to stop screaming, for she had run out of air, and Jaheira relaxed her grip just enough to let her breathe.

Sarevok was not out of danger yet. There were still the three men to contend with. He did not much like the looks of the half-orc in particular.

"Why do you follow such a feeble ranger, Blackguard?" he challenged him desperately. "Surely it would make more sense to ally yourself to the stronger Bhaalspawn?"

"You are no Bhaalspawn at all! Not anymore!" Dorn laughed.

"I _will _retrieve my soul from Irenicus," Sarevok growled. "With or without your help."

Rancor clashed into Bhaal's blade with a sound like a gong ringing. The force of the collision vibrated down Sarevok's whole arm. The pair tussled back and forth as Yoshimo groaned on the ground, but neither could get in a clear shot. It would have been an even match were it not for the presence of Anomen and Rasaad.

How the monk was striking at adamantine armour so hard without injuring his bare knuckles, Sarevok could not fathom, but the pain grew harder to ignore with each passing moment. Anomen's mace smashed down over his skull, his vision swam but as he stumbled he saw three blurred Arowans raising three identical fire arrows.

A colossal burst of wind erupted from nowhere, and all of the fighters were blown backward against the walls of the cavern. Sarevok shook his aching head to see a pure silver dragon beating her wings, hovering and landing on the ground between them. The creature was so lovely that if Irenicus had not stolen his soul, she might have done.

"And what have we here?" she asked in a high, melodic voice. The party gazed at her in awe. It was hard to believe that she and Firkraag were related species. This dragon had an aura of love and beauty which touched all of their hearts except Dorn's. "I am Adalon, guardian of this place. Long has it been 'ere I was charged with keeping the peace and many times since has it been disturbed, but never so loudly as this. Tell me, mortals, are you suicidal? For there are far quicker and less painful ways to go than what the drow of Urst Natha will subject you to when your noisy blundering brings their wrath upon you."

"I have done nothing to breech your peace, silver lady!" Sarevok cried, clutching at his chance to escape. "These cowards set upon me six against one."

"Be silent! I care not!" said the dragon imperiously. "I will tell you when you may speak. I seek your aid in a very important matter. In return I will provide you with a way to the surface and disguises which may prevent you from being murdered on sight."

"We have a path back to the surface, lizard," growled Dorn. "And you stand between me and my prey."

"Dorn, do keep quiet!" Jaheira snapped. "My lady Adalon, please speak."

"If you refer to Irenicus's portal, you do not have a way back. I have just destroyed it. An unfortunate necessity, but I cannot permit you to leave until you have aided me. A great crime has been committed," Adalon told them, stretching her shining wings as she spoke. "My eggs have been stolen by the drow of this city."

"An abominable crime!" spat Jaheira. "Anything that we can do to assist you, you have but to say the word."

Anomen nodded vigorously. There was part of him which, for all his denial, still yearned for chivalry. There was no being purer nor more noble than a silver dragon, and no quest more righteous than to rescue a clutch of one's eggs.

"There is. However in order for you to understand what you must do, I shall have to give you some context," the dragon replied. "Above us lie the ruins of an ancient temple. The temple above and Urst Natha below mark the place where the drow first descended into the Underdark. The drow of Urst Natha and the surface elves of Suldanessellar are in a state of perpetual war, or would be were it not for my influence."

A drow city, Dorn Il-Khan, Anomen and now an army of surface elves. All the ingredients for the evil visions that Ur-Gothoz had shown Arowan were in place, and yet the ranger was barely listening. Viconia had healed Yoshimo but he still looked groggy. She could not bring herself to care anymore for a city of strangers, nor for a clutch of eggs. Not while Yoshimo's geas was slowly draining him of life. All she wanted was for the dragon to stop talking and let them get on with sending Sarevok back to the afterlife. Then they could deal with everything else.

"Recently a pair of surfacers, Bodhi and Jon Irenicus, have been visiting the city and speaking to the Matron Mother Ardulace. I believe that they have formed an alliance to strike together at their mutual enemy, the city of Suldanessellar."

"They'll lose," Arowan said vaguely. She knew. She had seen it. Adalon cocked her lizard-like head to one side and gave the Bhaalspawn a peculiar, piercing look.

"Yes," the dragon nodded slowly. "Yes, I believe they will… unless the Servant of all Faiths can prevent it in time… but the fate of Urst Natha no longer interests me. Not after what they have conspired to do! The creature Irenicus violated my lair and stole my eggs. I have been informed that to intervene in the coming war will result in their destruction. It is the final straw in a long list of atrocities that I have born witness to."

"What would you have us do?" asked Rasaad.

"You will enter the city with subtlety, taking the form of a party of drow whom I have recently dispatched," Adalon replied, inspecting her talons. "I will transform you and you will pass through the city with ease. None shall see through my deception unless you break it yourselves. You will also have knowledge of the language of drow, and your speech will be heard as though you have spoken the dark tongue all your life. Go now and retrieve my eggs by whatever means necessary."

"No!" Arowan cried. Jaheira rounded on her furiously.

"Hold your tongue child!"

"Please Lady Adalon," Arowan begged. "This man Sarevok is a mass murderer, brought back from the dead with powerful evil necromancy. My husband is under a geas to slay him. Let us finish this fight and then we will do whatever you ask."

Even if that meant bringing Anomen and Dorn into the drow city.

The dragon dipped her head to peer more closely at her. Adalon's long neck was like a waterfall of silver, covered in shimmery scaly droplets. She was a creature beautiful beyond measure and yet there was something about the way she looked at her that Arowan did not like. It reminded her of the expression the faerie queen had worn when they returned the dryads' acorns. Adalon reached out her talon and stroked the back of her silver claws thoughtfully over the ranger's bow.

"No, huntress," she said coldly. "I have a better idea. I will keep Sarevok here with me. Return my eggs to me and he is yours to slaughter."

"I have studied your ilk!" Sarevok objected forcefully, as great scaly talons closed about him. "Silver dragons are not supposed to behave in this manner! Release me!"

"You will find me less tolerant than others of my kind," Adalon replied, preparing to carry him away to her lair. There was a dazzling flash of light. "There, it is done. You now resemble denizens of the drow city with a house insignia that will not draw undue attention. I suggest you act like drow when speaking to anyone you meet."

Arowan looked down at her hands. They had changed colour. Her ears felt strange and prickly, and when her hands flew to them she realised that they had lengthened and pointed. She lifted her ponytail to find silver waves instead of her usual brown. A quick look about her told her that aside from Sarevok, who was being hauled away in the dragon's grasp, the others had changed too.

Rasaad's tattoos had morphed from swirls into ugly, spindly spiders. Like the rest of them he had lost some height, and some of his muscle mass, though he was still exceptionally large for a drow. Jaheira still looked like herself, but stared out at Arowan with deep maroon eyes. Even her wig had changed colour. As a drow she looked more haughty and imperious than ever.

Her husband, fully recovered, was getting to his feet. He was inspecting his new body with amusement. His features had changed the most apart from Dorn's. He barely even looked like himself, but the twinkle in his eyes had stayed. Retrieving the eggs would result in Sarevok's death and that, for now, seemed to satisfy the geas.

"It will be most interesting to enter a drow city," he said enthusiastically. "Few surfacers have ever done so."

"Legions have done so," corrected Dorn Il-Khan. "Few have _left _again. Why are you smirking at me ranger?"

Arowan was smiling at Anomen and Dorn because their appearance reassured her a little. In her visions of the destruction of the city, neither man had been in drow form. So long as they remained like this, she reasoned, they were in no immediate danger. Besides Adalon had strongly implied that it was possible for the Servant of all Faiths to prevent the sacking of the city.

"What about me?" Viconia cried after Adalon. "I will be recognized for certain!"

"I don't think you will," Jaheira smiled at her smugly. Arowan turned her attention to the only real drow in their party and her face split into a smile identical to her adopted mother's. Viconia suddenly looked very worried.

Her small drow-hands flew to her face, discovering a slightly larger nose and a stronger jawline. They ran frantically down the vertical sides of her body, then up to her chest, feeling for curves that were no longer there. She looked down.

"No!" she howled. "NO!"

It was far deeper than her usual wail.


	50. Urst Natha

"Poor Viconia, reduced to the status of a lowly male," Arowan beamed. Tears of mirth pricked in the corners of her eyes. "Only you'll need another name. Let's see… now that we are all fluent in drow… how do you like Veldrin?"

"Curse you rivvil!" Viconia screeched.

"Silence male!" Jaheira thundered. "Do not presume to address your betters without permission!"

"Now, now Jaheira. Let's not be _dicks_ to her about it," said the ranger, for whom no pun was too obvious. "Poor Viconia. Never mind. I'm sure you'll learn to _man-_age your condition. Just try not to draw attention to yourself. You make a good looking male and I hear female drow can be a _boy-_sterous lot."

Viconia shot the Ilmatari a look that could have flattened giants.

"I don't know what you're laughing at Yoshimo, you're married to this," she said. "Let us retrieve the blasted eggs from Urst Natha and be done with this."

"What do you suppose they want with silver dragon eggs?" asked Anomen.

"Perhaps Lolth fancied an omelette?" Arowan suggested glibly.

"I expect that they just want to get the dragon out of the way so that the drow can storm the surface," Rasaad said. "But it seems to me that our more immediate problem will be locating Urst Natha."

There was a stunned silence. Nobody had thought to ask. A drop of blood fell from above and splashed on Dorn's hand. He looked puzzled, as a second dripped onto his boot. He looked up. Then down at the ground and pointed.

"It's that way."

"Did your demonic patron tell you that?" asked Arowan warily.

"No, Little Lamb," Dorn replied as patiently as he could manage. "But there is a deceased drow dangling above our heads. It is reasonable to assume that he came from the city, and his footprints lead over there."

They craned their heads up. There in the shadows, almost entirely bound in silk, was the drow Sarevok had fought. His silver hair cascaded out of the cocoon the giant spider was weaving about him and the tips of his ears poked out.

"Oh hells no!" yelped Arowan, notching an arrow. "That needs to be killed. With fire. Dammit where's Edwin when we need him?"

"Suit yourself," grunted Dorn. He hurled his sword upward like a caber tosser, impaling the spider and bringing it crashing to the ground in a writhing mass of green slime and legs.

"That was unnecessary," chided Jaheira. "It would have left us alone if we had left it alone."

"And no drow would slaughter a spider like that," Viconia reminded them. "They are revered creatures in our culture. Pull a stunt like that within the confines of the city and you will be publicly eviscerated.

Avoiding being killed in Urst Natha would be a challenge. That much was obvious from the moment they arrived at the gate. The first sentence out of the doorman's mouth was a violent death threat.

"Stand down, male worm!" Viconia thundered. "I am Veldrin from the city of Ched Nasad. Let me pass!"

"_You're a male too_…" Rasaad reminded her quietly out of the corner of his mouth. The guard looked puzzled.

"I speak for my mistresses!" Viconia recovered quickly. "They will not lower themselves to talk to one such as you."

The guard cast a doubtful gaze over Arowan who responded with her best sneer, and then Jaheira whose resting face was contemptuous anyway. With a swift apology he opened the gates to a bustling marketplace packed with drow, duergar, slaves in cages and species that the party did not even recognize.

"We were expecting your group from Ched Nasad," the doorman told them. "Your late arrival has delayed Solaufein's plans. You will find him in the nursery, in the Western quarter next door to the slave pits."

"The _nursery?" _Viconia echoed incredulously.

The doorman looked about him nervously, as though afraid of being overheard.

"Solaufein has been tasked with teaching our young females basic sword skills. It is intended by Phaere as a humiliating punishment for speaking out of turn… but make no mistake. He is the most powerful male warrior in the city and under the protection of one of our leading houses. Cross him at your peril."

He leaned back and waited expectantly. The others were unsure of what he wanted, but Viconia knew the drill. He had provided them with advice, and no drow ever did another a service without expecting something in return. She tipped the drow fifty gold pieces and they made their way into the market.

"Teaching little girls is considered a harsh punishment?" Arowan taunted Viconia. "I think you've been misleading us, _Mr Veldrin_, the drow are a softer lot than you've been letting on."

"You have never encountered drow children," Viconia chuckled, fondly remembering her own childhood with her brother and the torments they had inflicted upon their own mentors. "So I will let that ignorant remark pass."

The drow, it transpired, were not soft. If anything Viconia had been understating the cruelty and random violence of her homeland. They saw their first deaths within seconds of entering. A duergar slave was killed by his master, who was in turn slaughtered by a woman professing to be his own mother, for the crime of damaging her property. None of the locals so much as blinked.

"What's your problem?" the homicidal matriarch snapped at Arowan, who was staring.

"I was just… erm… impressed!" Arowan babbled as four ill-looking humans in filthy rags scampered out of the crowd, lifted the corpses and carried them away. "With the speed of the clean-up."

"You don't have slaves to gather the corpses in Ched Nasaad?" the woman asked, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

"Oh yes… erm… of course… but our slaves are not nearly so quick as yours," the ranger complimented her hastily. "You must take very good care of them."

The drow woman frowned for a moment, but Yoshimo had the presence of mind to laugh at his wife's comment. Thinking that the newcomers were making a rather clever joke, the drow laughed too, their squeaking ringing throughout the cavern like a burrow of giant guinea-pigs.

"There are slaves!" Arowan whispered urgently as the party hurried on. "We have to help them!"

"If you have any desire to live do-gooder, any at all, you'll leave well enough alone," Viconia hissed. "We must find this Solaufein, collect the eggs and leave. Unless you want your precious male to die from his geas of course."

The ranger stopped arguing and followed, though she did so with increasing unease. Hostile, suspicious eyes glared at the newcomers from all sides. Giant spiders scuttled through the streets as common as horses in Baldur's Gate. Only nobody was making these monsters pull any wagons. She did not like to contemplate what it was they ate.

Not far from the slave pits, they found the nursery. A small drow girl was kicking her father in the shins and threatening to have his heart cut out if he wouldn't buy her a baby to play with. Arowan assumed that she meant a doll, but this misunderstanding was soon clarified.

"Human babies are far too much work," he tried to pacify her. "We'd have to buy the mother as well, and humans are not cute when they get big. That's why our sewers are infested with abandoned rivvil."

"I want a baby NOW!" screeched the girl, drawing a dagger. Arowan watched in horror as her defeated father hastened to comply.

Nobody impeded their progress into the school, and it quickly became apparent just how early in life Viconia's disdain for men had been drilled in. Given her upbringing she was, Rasaad discovered to his amazement, probably something of a meninist. Far from scorning him, in her eyes she probably treated him with utmost respect, compared to what she was used to.

They stopped by the first classroom door they came to, where a male drow wearing a tweed blazer and glasses smiled at them nervously. He was a commoner, Viconia informed them quietly. She had never had much cause to deal with drow commoners herself, for her people did not have many. Most of the menial tasks were performed by slaves but there were a few jobs, like teaching the young to read, which were too important to be delegated to lesser species.

"…so that is why you should never underestimate the dangers of a d- dirty bathroom," the teacher told his class of sneering young ladies.

He pointed to a large picture on his flipchart showing a bathroom infested by myconids. Lying in the tub (rather graphically considering the age of the children) was a drow who had been paralysed by the spores and drowned in her own bath water. "Now mistresses: can anyone tell me why we should always wash our hands after petting the spiders?"

A little drow girl with elaborate silver braids and adorable strawberry eyes raised her hand.

"Yes Pafogen?" the teacher said.

"My mummy says you're a pen-pushing dweeb who should be mushed up for spider food!" she told him, beaming proudly.

"My mummy said an illithid ate his brain!" cried a little girl with pigtails. She waved her fingers like tentacles to illustrate her point. The teacher sighed and grimaced. Jaheira's watching party got the impression that all his lessons eventually ended this way.

"Well _my _mummy says he's really important," a third child defended him, unexpectedly.

The teacher smiled at her, looking both surprised and gratified. Pafogen made a scoffing noise and rolled her eyes.

"Impotent, Vacilla. Your mother said he was _impotent_."

"Excuse us," interrupted Jaheira.

At the sight of two adult females all of the young drow, who had been napping, talking or reclining back with their feet on the table suddenly snapped to attention and pretended to be model students.

"How may I serve you?" the teacher asked nervously. Arowan had a powerful sense of deja-vu, as though she had seen the man somewhere before.

"We're looking for Commander Solaufein," Jaheira said. "I'm going to take a wild guess that you're not him?"

"No… I… Put your hand down please Acoli, I'll be with you in a moment…" he floundered, adjusting his glasses. Arowan felt painfully sorry for him. "My name is Ferape. You must be the recruits from Ched Nasad. Solaufein is teaching swordplay in the courtyard but I should warn you, he's not in a very good m- mood."

"What do I care for the moods of males?" thundered Jaheira, getting into character.

"Male or not this Solaufein is still our superior," Viconia murmured. "Have a care."

"With respect, your male is correct," Ferape said with a worried little bow. "Solaufein answers to nobody save the matron mothers and the handmaidens themselves."

"And to Phaere!" piped up the pigtailed girl. She scooted around in her seat and told them eagerly, "Phaere is my sister, and she bought me a huge spider and it has poisonous fangs and everything, so I called him Fang. I asked if I could feed Ferape to him and Solaufein said 'no,' so Phaere made him be a teacher here as punishment for answering back to me."

"I… see," Arowan replied.

Suddenly she caught herself reflecting that a future in which these children were orphaned and starved to death might not be so dreadful after all. She pinched her own wrist hard as punishment for having such a thought.

"Phaere also told you not to feed me to your spider, Phrepto," Ferape reminded her hastily. The child poked her tongue out at him sulkily, then turned back to Jaheira.

"When I grow up, I'm going to be a warrior priestess just like Phaere," Phrepto boasted. She cocked her head to one side and added thoughtfully, "And then I'll kill her and take her place."

Ferape said nothing but pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Pafojen, please could you escort our visitors to Solaufein?" he sighed.

"Do it yourself male!" snapped the young drow.

"_I'll _take them," smiled another of his charges who had been keeping quiet up until that point.

"Thank you Visteria," Ferape replied.

"I'm not doing it for you," the little adder hissed. "I'd just prefer to be in his lesson instead of yours. I _like _Commander Solaufein." Visteria smiled and slunk past them fluttering her eyelashes as she led the way. In the school corridor she informed them: "Mummy likes him too. Phaere wants to murder him but my family won't let her until we get bored of him. I don't think that'll be for a while. Mummy says he's as big as a mace handle. Which is odd, because mace handles aren't all that big."

"Best not to overthink it," replied Arowan with a strained smile.

They found Solaufein outside, duelling with an increasingly irate child. She looked to be about twelve in human years, although what the equivalent age would be in drow, Arowan couldn't say. The little girl was attempting to thwack the impudent male about the shins with much cursing and name calling. She could not understand why he wasn't letting her win. When he saw them, he tripped her intentionally and sent her sprawling onto the ground, a silvery bundle of red-eyed fury. Across the courtyard four more young drow were tormenting a captured genie, pausing every so often to heal it so that they could start their assault afresh.

Solaufein was tall by drow standards, self-assured and handsome. He watched them approach with a bored, defiant expression and it was clear from the outset that he did not mean to grovel to them as Ferape had done.

"Ah, you are the newcomers that have been sent my way," he drawled. "As if I do not have enough to accomplish in a day without suffering for the welfare of the weak."

"Sounds like you already are," replied Yoshimo mildly. "Were you not sent here as punishment for defending Ferape, my friend?"

"'My friend?' Are all Ched Nassans this sarcastic?" sneered Solaufein. "Phrepto is an insufferable brat, and her sister in miniature. I struggle to compose a greater insult. Do not mistake my act for mercy, you will find none here. I sought merely to provoke them, not to defend Ferape. As for you two; just because you are female do not think to challenge me. You are foreigners here and no better than slaves until the matron mothers deem otherwise."

"Perhaps when they do, I should make you _my_ slave?" Viconia suggested. Solaufein looked rather taken aback, and once more the Sharran was reminded that she was a male in their eyes.

The next few days were spent running errands for Solaufein and getting acquainted with the drow way of life. He spoke bitterly and often of this 'Phaere' but never imparted any specifics. Mostly his quests involved monster baiting and bullying the local svifneblin; tasks that the party set about as kindly as they could without blowing their cover.

Part of their disguise involved the two females of the group constantly putting down and berating their males. A task which, when it came to 'Veldrin,' Arowan was enjoying immensely. Yet there were other aspects of this which were proving difficult. Ignoring the plight of the slaves was a daily heart wrenching struggle, and there were fighting pits. Of course, there were fighting pits.

Anomen was holding his own well enough in these. Dorn was an unstoppable slaying machine, but his lack of personal hygiene meant that he was never in very high demand. At first the spectators were excited as to who would slay this beast from Ched Nasad, but once he had killed too many of the good-looking favourites the ring masters stopped inviting him to compete. Whereas Rasaad was fast becoming something of a celebrity.

Veldrin's enthusiastic cheering of him from the side lines and Rasaad's obvious protectiveness of him did not go unnoticed.

"Your young man does have a certain effeminate beauty about him," one of Lolth's handmaidens commented on her way into the ring. "After I've won my match the two of you will retire to the lust chambers with me. I've a desire to watch you together."

Rasaad was not sorry that she did not win her fight. Though he was worried about how much he was enjoying himself. His own father had died in a fighting pit in Calimport, and the surges of adrenaline and victory he felt in the ring made him feel dirty. Yet in sparring he always had to hold back to some extent to avoid injuring his opponent. Here it was no holds barred fighting to the death or until one fighter was too incapacitated to continue. Part of him was repulsed, but another part of him loved it.

Arowan and Yoshimo avoided the fights, both watching and participating. At first she had had to forbid her husband to risk his life amongst the sparring drow, but as soon as he learned that there was no prize money involved he lost enthusiasm by himself. There was some glimmer of fun to be had in Urst Natha, however. Riding the spiders was quite an experience once you got used to all the legs. They were like horses which could scale walls, go upside-down and use their silk to turn themselves into giant swings.

The food and drink weren't bad either, and then of course there were the bedrooms. It wasn't just that even the cheapest rooms were nicer than the one Arowan had used in the Ducal Palace. She and her new husband both had new appearances, and they were making the most of this while they had the opportunity.

"Fighting all day and feasting in the evening," reflected Dorn with satisfaction, polishing his sword. He cast an envious eye at the pits, but Solaufein's quests involved enough violence to appease even the half-orc. "These drow know how to live. Shame really."

Arowan did not pretend not to know what he was talking about. If Ur-Gothoz's plan ever came to fruition, this entire city would be gutted and set alight.

"Your master's plan has failed Dorn. The Servant of all Faiths is here and she will stop it!" she bit back. "This city has its issues but we won't let you burn it to the ground!"

Dorn merely chuckled.

"Whatever you say, Little Lamb. Whatever you say."


	51. One In, One Out

"Ah, the wanderer returns," Solaufein sneered. "Absent her escort. Tell me Phaere, how did a simple raid on the fish-people go so badly wrong?"

"Silence male! When I speak to you it shall be to command you to lick my boots!" his boss struck at him. "Keep your bitterness to yourself or lose your tongue!"

She was attractive but not in the head-turning sort of way that Viconia was. Phaere's white hair was wavy, untidy and spilled from her bun in long feral strands. At first they thought that, apart from Arowan, she was the first drow they'd encountered with freckles. That was until they realised that the little dots peppering her face were scars from some previous attack or torture.

Nevertheless, her resemblance to drow-Arowan was pronounced. So much so that Phaere noticed it herself. She was just about to comment on how pathetically Solaufein must be pining for her to find himself such a lookalike, when she was distracted by her own superior.

"He asks a question we would all like an answer to," a haughty voice cut over her. Phaere turned and straightened up abruptly.

"Matron Mother Ardulace!" she replied breathlessly.

Unlike surface elves it was, in fact, possible to guess who the older drow were by sight. True, they did not age in the conventional sense, but their lives were brutal and they picked up scars. Ardulace's beauty had been particularly marred through many poisoning attempts by her rivals which had left her with thinning hair and papery skin, not unlike an elderly rivvil.

"Explain yourself child," Ardulace croaked. Even her voice had grown hoarse centuries ago, when one of her sisters had tried to do away with her by setting her house on fire.

"We encountered a human warrior in the caverns," Phaere replied. "A vast monster of a man, stronger than any gladiator-slave that I have ever seen. He was naked, he must be an escapee. His owner will pay dearly when she is found. He disarmed me. I left my men to cover me while I made a tactical retreat."

"Very sensible," Ardulace nodded.

"However, without guard or a weapon, I was caught by the Kuo-Toa," she replied. "It took me some time to fight my way out, but I bring back the head of their prince!"

She spoke these last words more loudly and held up a dripping, reeking fish head. The marketplace erupted into applause and the matron mother smiled, thin-lipped. Once the cheering had died away however, one man kept clapping sarcastically.

"One human?" taunted Solaufein. "The mighty Phaere ran away from _one human? _Who didn't even have any armour?"

Ardulace murmured something to two of her attendants who rushed forward quickly to retrieve the fish head. They squeezed its blood into thin vials, corking them and stowing them away in their packs. Apparently kuo-toa blood was a valuable ingredient for spells. Or possibly a very potent fish soup.

"I tell you, this was no common rivvil!" Phaere insisted, as a chuckle rippled through the watching crowd. "He needs to be found and brought to me. Solaufein! See to it! And since you're so confident that he's only _one human, _I shall put you to death if you fail."

"I call your bluff arrogant one!" Solaufein retorted, squaring up to her in a manner they had not seen any male dare do to a female since their arrival. From what she had seen so far of the drow, Arowan could not understand it. It was as though the man had a death wish. "Run me down now, if you think you can get away with it."

Phaere's hand flew to her dagger, but a look from the Matron Mother stopped her in her tracks. Apparently the insult was not worth offending little Visteria's mother over.

"Very well!" Phaere hissed angrily, hands clenching. "Since I cannot have you, I will slaughter your latest band of minions unless you bring me the human. And before you ask why you should care: because I will replace them with trolls and kobolds! That's why!"

The commander responded with a sarcastic bow and jerked his head to Jaheira's party indicating that they were to follow him. They gathered around Phaere, who described the man to them. Naked, bald, strange glowing eyes and an enormous weapon. There could be no question that she was after Sarevok.

Which presented the party with a huge problem. If they killed him, he would dust and they'd have no proof of his death, but if they brought him in alive, he would have no reason not to talk and expose them as surfacers.

The situation was not helped by having to take Solaufein with them, as it meant that they could not even discuss their options. They combed the caverns for hours but came across nothing except fish people and gnomes. The party knew, as Solaufein could not, that they had no chance of finding Sarevok this way for he was in Adalon's lair. Yet there was no point in retrieving him yet. Not until they had a plan.

Near an underground river, Yoshimo stumbled. He righted himself immediately, but Arowan noticed that he was clawing his throat.

"Yoshi? Are you alright?" she whispered. He nodded, but she was not sure that she believed him. "Is it the geas?"

Before he could reply, Solaufein turned his attention to them. The commander strode over, sword drawn and they feared that he might intend to punish his follower for this display of weakness. He surveyed the Ilmatari with the sort of disdain most people reserved for maggots, but no aggression was forthcoming.

"We'll make camp here," the drow commander declared at length. "I've no desire to wear you down. Phaere may have given me feeble foreigners with no stamina, but at least you smell better than trolls."

There was no need for tents for it never rained in the Underdark, but they made a small fire from stiff woody reeds poking out of the river. At first Yoshimo was grateful to stop, but the rest seemed to give him no relief. The healers, all three of them, came to look at him but there was nothing they could do.

"I was alright while we were looking for the eggs," Yoshimo told them in a hoarse whisper. "That might have directly led to Sarevok's death. This won't. We know where he is and are doing nothing to kill him."

"How long do we have?" Arowan fretted, but Yoshimo could not tell her.

As the hours wore on, his condition grew worse. He inhaled in frantic gulps and every so often moaned in pain, while she tried to tend to him. Despite her pleading and coaxing he refused all food. Healing spells had no effect and nothing seemed to offer him any comfort except her holding and reassurance.

"We have to move," Arowan insisted finally. "If we stay here like this he'll die in the night."

There was no way to tell if it really was night of course. The Underdark was constant, continual gloom lit only by glowing mosses. Real drow had special vision, to detect threats in the shadows, but the party had to content themselves with straining in the dark.

"What would you have us do?" Dorn rumbled.

Solaufein was watching them. Drow in general were paranoid about assassination attempts by underlings, and this drow triply so. He would expect Phaere to have them do her dirty work for her and say it was the human. Perhaps there never even was a human in the first place.

He had been foolish to stop for their sick soldier. In fact, as soon as the man got to his feet he began to look healthier. Solaufein began to suspect that there was nothing wrong with him at all… and yet there was something peculiar about this group. He had been watching them since their arrival and not once had he seen them torture anybody, hunt for fun or abuse a slave. Even their muscular warrior with the tattoos had not taken advantage of his popularity in the fighting pits to enjoy the lust chambers. Although come to think of it, his 'friend' Veldrin might account for that.

"We should keep looking for the human," Arowan said loudly. "Phaere will grow angry if we keep her waiting. Let's split up. That way we'll find him faster."

"Split up?" Solaufein raised an incredulous eyebrow. "The caves surrounding Ched Nasad must be a great deal safer than those about Urst Natha for you to make such a suggestion. Our city has many unpleasant neighbours who we antagonize constantly. Illithids, kuo-toa, beholders? Even the duergar or svirfneblin, if you run into a big enough group of them. Any of them would relish the chance to take their suffering out on a lone drow!"

He sounded incredibly bitter.

"You would prefer not to make war with the other species then?" Rasaad asked. Solaufein shot him a shrewd look. It was as if he was calculating whether or not to take a risk.

"Some of them would make war on us regardless," Solaufein replied carefully. "The illithids require hosts for their spawn and find drow brains most desirable but… the kuo-toa could be reasoned with and I daresay the svirfneblin would like nothing better than to be left alone."

"That is an… unconventional attitude, male," Viconia remarked with a mixture of fascination and mild disapproval.

"You are unconventional yourselves," Solaufein remarked, his eyes flickering between the huge, muscular Rasaad and the lean, effeminate Veldrin.

Male-male relationships were not viewed with inherent hostility in Urst-Natha the way they were in, say, Amn. However, their society did hinge on the servile devotion which males owed to their mistresses. For this reason, while bisexuality was perfectly acceptable, a drow male who had no interest _at all_ in females would be considered inherently dangerous. After all, what was there to bind them into obedience but lust? Gay drow, therefore, tended not to advertise their preferences quite so blatantly as Veldrin was doing.

Yoshimo was starting to paw his neck again. This delay was doing them no good. Arowan strode directly up to Solaufein, whose hand flew to his sword, expecting an attack.

"Are you familiar with the prophecies surrounding the Servant of all Faiths?" the ranger asked directly.

"What are you doing rivvil?" Viconia spat in alarm.

"_Rivvil?" _echoed Solaufein. His sword was all the way out now, but he was hopelessly outnumbered. Besides, he had seen Rasaad and Dorn in the fighting pits and knew that he could not defeat both of them.

Viconia slapped her hand to her mouth in horror, but there was no going back now. Arowan knew that she was taking a gamble, but Solaufein wasn't letting them split the group and if they did not start obeying the geas quickly Yoshimo was going to die. In her opinion, the drow commander was far more likely to help the Servant of all Faiths in his own self-interest than to save her husband out of the goodness of his heart.

"Yes. These faces are an illusion," Arowan confirmed. She was glad she had the Ring of Charisma now, for she was sure that with her normal persuasive powers, Solaufein would already have attacked. "Veldrin is the only real drow here."

Despite the predicament he was facing, Solaufein could not help finding this amusing.

"Veldrin acts less like a drow than any of you!" he snorted. "He talks back to males above him and glares at the females of great houses when they look at his boyfriend. You are a foreign nobody from a minor house who strides about with as much arrogance as a Handmaiden of Lolth, and a senior one at that!"

"That's because she used to be one," sighed Arowan. "Solaufein put the damn sword away, we outnumber you seven to one, and meet Viconia of House DeVir."

"Viconia _DeVir?_" even Solaufein was stunned, though he quickly recovered. "So you are female then? That explains… a lot. Is disguising yourself as a boy how you survived the fall of your house? Clever. Although it'd be a lot cleverer if you also acted more like a real male. How in the goddess's name have you not provoked anyone into killing you yet?"

"A great mystery indeed," muttered Arowan sourly.

"Shut up rivvil, you've spoken enough!" snapped Viconia. Then she turned her attention to Solaufein with a seductive purr which might have been very effective in her usual form, but as Veldrin it just left her target feeling confused. "I survived because I am the Servant of all Faiths! After I rejected the Spider Queen, I sought refuge on the surface, where Shar came to me and granted me the use of her powers."

Solaufein replaced his sword, finally. He had never heard of 'Shar' but it was clear from the context that Viconia was referring to a goddess who was not Lolth. Whether she really was the Servant of all Faiths or just a raving lunatic, he believed that she meant what she said. No drow would ever risk uttering the words 'I rejected the Spider Queen' as a ruse or trick.

He knew, of course, what the Servant of all Faiths was. The drow clerics had received Amauna's warning just like everybody else. Unlike every surfacer she had ever told, Solaufein was not in the least surprised that the Chosen One was a drow. In fact it had never even _occurred_ to the drow that she wouldn't be one of them.

"What brings you back to the Underdark, Servant of all Faiths?" he asked. "And why are these surfacers with you masquerading as drow?"

"It is a long story," replied Viconia, "But the short answer is that we must retrieve the eggs of a silver dragon from Urst Natha. Otherwise that one will die and we shall be stuck here without disguises."

"I know something of this," Solaufein replied. "Matron Mother Ardulace was boasting that the silver dragon guarding the path to the surface would no longer be a hinderance. I believe she will have the eggs you seek. I can help you to retrieve them, provided we can find this human for Phaere. He has something to do with you as well I assume?"

"We were going to have to kill him regardless," Arowan replied, uncomfortable that words like this were coming out of her mouth. Yet it was unbearable to watch Yoshimo suffer. She added as much to remind herself as anyone else, "He is a mass murderer and an evil man."

She began walking the party in the direction of Adalon's lair. Solaufein seemed to accept that he would have to come with them, and as they set off after Sarevok, Yoshimo's condition improved again. He was saying very little, however and he seemed pale and ill. Fighting the will of the geas repeatedly was taking its toll. The two real drow fell into step with one another.

"Since you have also rejected the Spider Queen, I will tell you something I have told few others," Solaufein said. "Lolth holds no sway over my heart. I worship Lady Silverhair, Eilistraee, and like her I believe that my people have strayed from the path. Perhaps this is your purpose, Servant of all Faiths? To lead our people from Lolth and to salvation?"

Dorn turned his glinting black eyes to Viconia and let out a cruel chuckle.

"It isn't."

"Then perhaps it is mine," Solaufein said resolutely. "I know of some like me in Urst Natha; Ferape and a few others. There must be more… I am sure of it. Perhaps my people can be saved from themselves."

"From _themselves_? Perhaps," replied Dorn darkly.

The implication was not lost upon Solaufein who stopped short, causing Yoshimo to stumble again. Arowan grabbed his arm and pulled him forward, imploring the others to hurry.

"I have no time for cryptic threats, speak plainly!" the commander barked.

"Dorn has a demonic patron," Arowan replied uneasily. "He has shown us glimpses of what is to come if the Servant of all Faiths cannot prevent it. Urst Natha will be destroyed, and all those of evil alignment slaughtered."

"_All _of them?" Solaufein gasped, "But that's practically everybody!"

"Ferape will be spared," she said, for she remembered now where she had seen the browbeaten teacher before. "And those below the age of responsibility, who do not yet have an alignment. I don't think there will be many other survivors."

Solaufein was stumbling along now. He looked almost as sick as Yoshimo. His haughty, defiant expression had been replaced by one of deep distress. For all their cruelty and violence, he cared about his people and his city too much to see them exterminated like rats.

"You could come away with us?" suggested Viconia, who had missed the company of her own kind since Baeloth had left. Beside her Rasaad's fist clenched and he narrowed his eyes at Solaufein before he could stop himself.

"I don't think your surface-male would appreciate that," he laughed.

"Not at all, Solaufein. A follower of Lady Silverhair would be welcome among us, of course," Rasaad forced himself to say. "My own goddess is sometimes called Our Lady of Silver and both are referred to as the Moon Maiden. I believe we may have much in common."

The drow shook his head doubtfully, but smiled at Rasaad. With his huge size and spider tattoos, the man made a terrifying drow, but somehow he suspected that he was not so imposing in his true skin.

"I have seen you fight in the pits. One thing we do have in common is that we are both warriors," replied Solaufein. "So you must know that I will not run and leave my city to burn. No. I shall remain and fight the coming evil, even if it proves hopeless."

Rasaad nodded respectfully, one warrior to another. Anomen was almost on the point of nobly volunteering to defend it too, until he remembered that according to Arowan's visions his presence would certainly do more harm than good.

"I revoke my invitation in any case," Viconia sniffed. "Two insipid moon-calves pining over their silver ladies is more than I am prepared to tolerate."

Solaufein laughed weakly, but Arowan was not smiling. She was half-carrying Yoshimo now, but the dragon's lair was in sight. When they got there, however, Adalon refused to give them Sarevok.

"He is Bhaalspawn, he will leave no body behind," she rasped when they explained the situation. "You will have nothing to show to Phaere and no way to retrieve my eggs. Bring him to her alive! I will place magics upon him that will stay his tongue and keep him from revealing your identities."

"No! Yoshimo will die if you do that! We have to kill Sarevok!" Arowan cried.

"Without something to show Phaere you will be unable to return to Urst-Natha and my eggs will be lost!" she roared, spreading her great wings to fill the cavern. Her front feet slammed down before the ranger, placing herself between the Ilmatari and Sarevok. The Bhaalspawn's sword was raised in preparation for a last stand.

Yoshimo felt drained from the repeated attacks by the geas. His throat was dry, and head fuzzy, like a bad bout of flu. He looked into the deep, blue eyes of the dragon. They were filled with fear for her eggs, rage at Arowan… yet also some pity… for him…

It would not be their party against her. Rasaad and Anomen would never stand back and allow the slaughter of a silver dragon. They would also have Sarevok on their side protecting himself, Viconia who would fight with Rasaad and probably Solaufein who needed something to show Phaere too. Whose side Dorn and Jaheira would pick was anybody's guess, but the odds were already stacked too heavily against them.

"Dorn? Jaheira?" Yoshimo said quietly. His eyes flickered sadly toward his wife. Jaheira startled but the half-orc nodded and seized Arowan about the arms. Moments later, vines sprang up from the floor and entangled her legs.

"What are you doing?" Arowan screamed, thrashing uselessly against them. "No! NO!"

Yoshimo drew his sword.

"Turn me back."

"It doesn't have to be like this," Adalon said sadly, but she granted his request just the same. The thief's drow ears shrank back and his hair darkened from silver to black. His adamantine blade was revealed for the katana it really was.

"I believe it does," Yoshimo panted. "I can wither and die for failing to kill Sarevok… or I can fall in battle and pray that my heart finds purchase with Ilmater. When this is done cut it out and bring it to his temple. Only he can spare me from the hell this geas has tied my soul to."

He turned to Arowan, who felt as though she had been stabbed in both lungs. She was mouthing words that she could not get out, pleading with them to let her go, and not to do this. At the same time she tried to catch one last glimpse of his living face, to fix it in her memory, but she could barely see him through her tears.

"I love you," Yoshimo whispered, pressing his forehead against hers. "Goodbye Arowan."

Arowan could not believe what was happening. It felt like a bad dream, a nightmare from which any moment she had to wake up.

"No redemptions!" cried Yoshimo, turning back to the dragon. "No second chances! Let us get this over with! I stride into the hell that Irenicus has promised. Ilmater take my heart, I have no choice!"

"I love you," Arowan choked, but it was too late.

Adalon still held enough mercy not to draw it out. Her talon's slashed out at Yoshimo. Once ripping through his armour, twice opening his chest and third removing his heart as requested.

She shook the dripping organ out and passed it to Jaheira, who hastily wrapped it up in her spare clothes before the dragon carried it away out of Arowan's sight. This was brutal for the Ilmatari. Normally they would bring a whole body for such a ritual, not a ripped-out heart, but bringing him to the surface intact was impossible.

The ranger stopped struggling and sagged. Her sobs rang through the cave in such agony that Rasaad had to leave, unable to bear to listen to it.

Inside Arowan was shattering like a dropped vase. Flashes of the things she had done to try to keep Yoshimo alive, the moral lines she had crossed. Making deals with Firkraag and Irenicus. Bringing Freya's flayed fur back to Bodhi and providing her with a fortune in gold to do hells-knew-what. Bringing back Sarevok from the dead knowing that he would have his soul ripped out. Knowingly sending Bubbles to her death, the slaughter of Mazzy Fentan and, most pointless of all, Imoen.

It was all for nothing now. All of it.

Something dark was stirring inside her. It was angry and strong, an overwhelming rage that threatened to burst from her body and destroy everything in sight. This was not like any mere loss of temper she had experienced before. Power lay behind this. Power like… like the avatar of Bhaal in the Twofold Temple.

She felt her muscles grow and her bones stretch. Her teeth were lengthening in her mouth and something spiny was prickling beneath her skin. This was more than just emotion, a physical change was happening inside her, coupled with a burning urge to _kill._

Nobody else had noticed yet. She opened her puffy eyes to find her vision blurred by tears. Jaheira's watery outline was right in front of her. If she could not suppress this monster inside her, the druid would be the first to fall.

"No…" she whispered. Shock and adrenaline flooded through her, and before the Slayer that was Bhaal's avatar could take over, the real Arowan got a grip. "NO!"

From the others' point of view, she did not cry for long. Less than five minutes, before she shouted out the word 'no,' then retreated into a cold silence which was somehow much worse than weeping.

* * *

* * *

"Arowan, say something," Anomen pleaded eventually. He was the first to speak, but he had waited a long time.

"What exactly do you expect me to say?"

"You've been staring at him for hours," Jaheira said tentatively. "What do you want us to do with Yoshimo? Dorn and Rasaad have offered to dig a grave, or we could try to float him down the river. Adalon might be willing to cremate him if we ask?"

"Does it matter?" the ranger asked. Were it not for his bloodless complexion and ripped-out heart, her husband might have been sleeping. It was as though he was still present with her. Only, of course, he wasn't. "You want me to say something? Fine. Yoshimo looks how I feel. Will that do?"

Rasaad had come back in after she stopped howling but seemed unable to think what to say or where to look. He kept as far back as possible with Viconia, wishing that this wasn't happening. Jaheira and Anomen had attempted to hug and comfort her, but she had responded with such frosty indifference that she might have been on numbing potions once again. Dorn neither retreated from her nor offered solace. He was watching her, his expression calculating. Every so often his fingers brushed the hilt of his sword.

Solaufein placed a hand on her shoulder. He knew, from having lost Phaere to the Handmaiden's torturers, exactly how much it hurt. Though he could not help but feel that Arowan was lucky in one respect. At least the shell of her lover was not walking around tormenting her. Given the choice, he would have preferred that Phaere had died like this, so that he could grieve for her and move on.

"Forgive me, but if we do not return with the human soon Phaere will grow suspicious," he said as gently as he could. "We must bring Sarevok to her."

"No."

The dragon's head whipped around, snakelike and she released a roar of fury that shook the walls of the cavern. Arowan did not react. She regarded the silver beast with a frozen, hateful look. Sarevok had been staring at his hands like a condemned prisoner awaiting execution. Suddenly he looked up hopefully.

"I have no further quarrel with my brother," Arowan said. "I refuse to murder him now that the geas cannot be broken."

"_Now _you'll admit that it was murder?" Viconia sniped. Rasaad shot her a repressive look.

"It was murder. I murdered Imoen," confessed Arowan in a hollow voice. She looked Rasaad in the eye, and the monk took a step backward. It was like gazing into a void. "Yes, and Mazzy Fentan too. Are you happy now?"

"You cannot believe that I would be happy about this," Rasaad replied in a low voice.

"Enough!" Adalon roared. "Yoshimo may be dead but I have his heart, and if you ever wish to reach the surface again to take it to his temple, you will return my eggs! Fail and I will eat it!"

Arowan looked up at her, and nodded slowly. She looked back at Yoshimo's body and then to the dragon.

"Can you make him look like Sarevok?"

Everybody had already been staring at her, but all at once it felt as though the temperature in the dragon's lair had dropped a few degrees. The crying had been hard to listen to, but this cold-blooded calm was so similar to her behaviour on numbing potions that, if they had not all been with her the whole time, Jaheira would have been sure that she'd drank one.

"I beg your pardon?" the dragon blinked in disbelief.

"I won't murder Sarevok," Arowan said.

"But-" Dorn protested, looking suddenly alarmed.

"No," she replied icily, not daring to let herself feel anything. "I refuse to become Bhaal. I will not murder again. This far, but no further."

She shuddered. Even thinking of Yoshimo made the grief well up like a volcano and opened the fissure in her soul through which Bhaal's avatar might erupt. So she forced herself not to. It was not easy, but if there was one aspect of the mediocre ranger that had always been exceptional, it was her capacity for stoicism.

"We have a body now to bring to Phaere. Make it look like Sarevok." She said 'it' because she could not bring herself to think Yoshimo's name. "And make Sarevok look like the drow we lost. He can take his place and help us to find the eggs."

Some of the others were looking at her in horror for making this suggestion, but one of them was Dorn. The half-orc was not a good actor, and the fact that he transparently detested this plan reassured her that it was the right one.

"You will not regret this, sister!" Sarevok declared, eyes blazing. "We will find the eggs, bring your husband's heart to the temple and then, together, we will hunt down the one responsible for all of this."


	52. In Which Phaere Makes a Pass at Rasaad

Phaere was pleased with the body, particularly the gaping hole where his heart had been. Yoshimo's final resting place ended up being the belly of her little sister Pafogen's giant spider.

The Bhaalspawn brother and sister watched the monster wrap him into a silk cocoon and haul him into its web in the darkness above. It was a surreal experience for them both. For Sarevok, because the corpse was disguised to look like him, and it was his own cold face vanishing under layers of spider silk. For Arowan because she knew that the body was really her husband.

"Where is the heart Solaufein?" Phaere asked. "Did you bring it to me?"

"I think we are past exchanging romantic trinkets, don't you?" he replied sourly.

The woman dismissed him with a scowl, but seemed to have taken a shine to Arowan, the drow who so resembled her. Before letting her leave with the others, Phaere insisted on restyling her hair into a loose bun just like her own, so that they resembled each other even more.

"When I become Matron Mother," she promised, "I will take you everywhere I go. We shall dress in matching outfits. From a distance no assassin will be able to tell us apart."

"Thank you, mistress," Arowan replied blankly.

Phaere leaned down and breathed to her in a venomous whisper.

"I know what you're up to."

"I see," she answered dully.

She couldn't bring herself to care anymore whether Phaere killed her. Death would not release her from her misery, she would simply descend to the Abyss and wait, perhaps for centuries, for the last of her siblings to die. Before becoming Bhaal.

Something in her hardened like a chrysalis. No. No matter what happened she was not going to become Bhaal!

"What exactly do you think I am up to?" she asked coldly.

"Solaufein cares nothing for _you_, you know," Phaere hissed. "He only wants you because you look like me."

She yanked the ranger's hair hard as she styled it, scratching her fingers spitefully over her scalp. Arowan did not mind this. It was a useful distraction from thinking about Yoshimo, which she must not do, or the Slayer might escape her.

"I am not sleeping with him," Arowan replied tersely. "I think you have the wrong idea."

"I don't believe you, but if you're not I need you to start," Phaere replied. "You heard what he said to me in the marketplace. I cannot endure such insults much longer without losing my place in Lolth's hierarchy, but neither can I strike at him without sparking a war between houses. A war which would be most inconvenient at a time when we have… other plans."

"So you want me to do it?" she guessed. Phaere pulled her hair back so far that Arowan's neck was exposed over her knee. She held the point of a poisonous dagger to the ranger's throat. Part of Arowan wished that she would lose her grip, prick her with it, and send her down to the Abyss where she could cry over Yoshimo in peace.

"Tie him up in a lust chamber, whip or throttle him and 'accidentally' go too far," Phaere suggested. "His sponsors will understand. Incidents like that happen all the time. Here in Urst Natha we like to test our partner's strength and endurance, and there is little sympathy for those who fail to make the grade. I will see to it that you have the funds to compensate his patrons for their loss."

Her hand slipped down Arowan's torso, examining her like a prize sow on market day. Phaere was being tactile in a way which would have made her uncomfortable yesterday. But today she was past caring.

"Whatever," she sighed.

"Excellent!" Phaere released Arowan and rubbed her hands together gleefully. "You will find him in his quarters in the Male Fighters' Society, sulking as is his wont. Instruct him to show you his bedroom. I doubt he will guess your true intentions. Once inside, make sure that you are both as loud as possible. The other males must believe that he is enjoying himself until the game goes wrong, then kill him."

"Right."

Phaere dismissed her with an idle wave of her hand.

The city passed either side of her as though in a foggy blur. She barely paid the passing drow any attention, trapped as she was in her own private hell. Her grief had to be constantly suppressed, kept at bay for fear of releasing the slayer. Yet it was lurking constantly beneath the surface.

At one building she came to, two young drow were riding a spider up to the roof, just as she and Yoshimo had done. The female was not bullying the male, nor did either seem to be trying to engineer the other falling to their death. She wondered if either of the happy couple would be spared the purge, and whether they'd have a hope of survival even if they did.

She found Solaufein not in the Male Fighters' Society but in the tavern with everybody else. Three drow bards were tuning their instruments atop a raised platform, and he seemed to have chosen to sit as far from them as possible. The party had been talking, but all fell silent when she came in. Without comment she sat down on Solaufein's knee and said in a dead voice to the astonished commander:

"Phaere just ordered me to lure you into a bedchamber, murder you and claim it was a sex game gone wrong. I'm supposed to be seducing you now. Try to look pleased."

"Why…?"

"She thinks you'll find me irresistible because I look a bit like her," Arowan replied in the same emotionless tone.

"Arrogant wench!" Solaufein began angrily. "I would sooner lie with a drider than her!"

"…is not the mood we're aiming for here. Try again."

They were spared the need to talk further, however, by the drow musicians starting to play. These were the first non-fighting entertainers that Arowan had seen amongst drow, Baeloth not included. Most of the music was provided by slaves. Two males played elongated string instruments, while the female sang.

It was a sad, melancholy song, like a funeral melody. Hearing it made continuing to supress her feelings very difficult. Arowan turned to the others.

"Did you arrange this?" she asked, almost accusingly.

"As a tribute to your fallen husband," Solaufein nodded. "Though the bards don't know this, of course."

"I'm surprised drow would permit this sort of mourning," Arowan replied, trying to talk over the music so that she did not have to listen to it.

"For a male they would not," replied Viconia who was listening to the bard intently. Rasaad was astonished to see that the song had moved her to tears.

"The song is about her female lover?" Rasaad enquired. Viconia was astonished by the question.

"Not her lover! Can't you surfacers hear her pain? She has lost far more than a mere lover! Listen to the words," the drow replied. "She's singing for her enemy!"

Straining their ears to pick up the actual words, they realised that she was right. For all that this composition was performed like a romantic ballad on the surface, the bard was actually singing about all the ways that she and her nemesis had tried to slay each other over the years before she'd finally had the misfortune to succeed. It was a beautiful, heartfelt hate poem about a strife so powerful that the victor was _devastated _to have finally ended it and was grieving for her tragic loss.

"Only the drow…" Arowan muttered. She looked at Viconia with a half-smile. "Are you going to sing one of these for me when I die?"

"No. Even if I had the musical talent, one does not compose a tribute like this for just anybody," Viconia replied earnestly. "You have to understand that drow have many lovers but only a lucky few of us will experience true hatred in our lifetimes. Drow feuds are usually short. To have a foe so evenly matched that the relationship has time to mature into something deeper… it is a special and sacred thing. Every drow child grows up dreaming of someday finding _the one._"

"Let me be sure that I understand this correctly," Rasaad's brow furrowed, "When drow say 'the one' they are referring to their one true enemy and not their one true love?"

"One true _love?" _Viconia wrinkled her nose.

"So tell me, how do drow fairy tales work Viconia?" sneered Jaheira. "Is the beautiful princess locked in a tower, awaiting her destined rival to come and sweep her off her feet?"

"Yes, I recall a story like that," the drow replied, twirling a lock of silver hair dreamily about her finger. "Only she _cut off _her feet. The heroine sought revenge for over a century. In the end she summoned the aid of a demon who dragged them both to Avernus and agony ever after."

"Ah. Sounds familiar. Something like that happened to me once," Sarevok nodded. "Although I have yet to feel the urge to compose an ode to Freya."

"You have not been listening. Epic enmities are supposed to be an even match," said Rasaad, who did not trust the new addition to their party. "Freya mauled you like a chew toy every time."

Arowan tried not to look at Sarevok, who was now wearing a face that had been Yoshimo's hours before. They had fooled about with their new appearances, never really believing that it would be the last time. Over and over she played in her mind what they might have done differently to avoid it coming to this. Yet perhaps the only way would be to turn back time right to their first meeting on the road to Baldur's Gate, and warn him then. That's how far back they would have had to go to escape the geas… it made her wonder if she had ever had control over any of her fate.

Solaufein was thinking. His eyes reflected the light of a candle on their table, making them dance like tongues of flame.

"I shall be forced to leave the city after all," he mused. "But it need not be for nothing. Many of the houses, including mine and Phaere's, span multiple cities. If the children survive the coming purge the matron mothers will be impressed with their strength. They might be persuaded that such young ones are worth salvaging. So be it. I will flee and organize the relief effort from a distance."

* * *

* * *

They staged his death in the Male Fighters' Society, exactly as Phaere had ordered it. Arowan slumped on the edge of his bed making noises, albeit in a rather half-hearted way. She was copying from what she had heard passing the lust chambers. Fortunately Solaufein (whose survival had long depended on satisfying the matron mother of her house's rival) was rather more convincing. He even had the presence of mind to thump the mattress a few times to make the bed squeak.

"Will you be alright?" she asked glumly.

"I was about to ask you the same question," Solaufein sighed. "It… it does become easier. With time."

"That's what Jaheira said too," Arowan replied quietly. She didn't believe it. The future stretched out before her like a joyless ashen road.

There was a rapping noise on the window. Solaufein opened it and a horrendous stench blew in, that made her gag. Ferape the teacher's head poked through, looking all about him to make sure the coast was clear. Then he scrambled in.

He and Solaufein pulled a third drow through the window by the shoulders, while two human slaves pushed up his feet. It took her a moment to register that this third drow was the source of the smell, and that he was very, very dead. As soon as the corpse was safely inside, the frightened slaves fled.

Arowan pressed her sleeve over her nose, but Ferape began to hastily strip the body while Solaufein unbuckled his armour. He had been fully clothed throughout their feigned intercourse, but now he was undressing quickly to swap clothes with the stiff, dead man. The double's face was starting to shrivel, but she suspected that he was the same man she'd seen murdered by his own mother when they'd first arrived in Urst Natha.

"Where did you get that body?" she recoiled.

"Contrary to the teachings of the Spider Queen, it does sometimes pay to be k- kind to those under you," Ferape replied. "Solaufein shielded me from being fed to Pafogen's spider and now I return the favour by helping him fake his death. I have been sneaking extra food to the corpse gatherers for years, and tonight they were willing to risk their safety to bring me this!"

_Be kind to others or they won't be kind to you._ It was a concept that most humans were introduced to as toddlers, but Ferape was explaining it slowly and carefully as though he had uncovered a revolutionary philosophy. He noticed her stare and frowned at her.

"Is something wrong?"

"No. It's just… meeting you and your students explains an awful lot about Viconia. That's all."

Like when they had first met. How incapable she had been of grasping the fact that Arowan was trying to help her, and that she was making her own life needlessly difficult by being so hostile. How else would she behave, when she had grown up with all this?

'_She must have found my behaviour as strange as I found hers,' _thought Arowan. _'She probably thought that if she wasn't aggressive enough, we'd think her weak and kick her out to die.'_

"Why do you work together?" Solaufein asked her. "We are not… unaware… that surfacers do things differently. We encounter them here from time to time after all. Yet even by the standards of my people it is obvious that you and Viconia loathe each other."

"It's true. We don't get on, but bad luck keeps throwing us back together," sighed Arowan. "When we first met we had little knowledge of each other's kind. Perhaps if we had known then what we know now things might have been different… but it's far too late. Too much water under the bridge."

Solaufein nodded. He and Ferape were almost finished arranging the corpse. They had added some whip marks along with a few accessories which explained the 'accident.' The sight of them made her feel even more queasy.

"Just leave it there," Ferape recommended. "Give it another day or two to moulder and only your nearest and dearest will know it isn't you."

"Somehow I don't think Phaere will be coming over here to weep over my body," Solaufein muttered. "Well Arowan, I must take my leave. May… may Eilistraee, Lady Silverhair, watch over you always. You and the Servant of all Faiths."

"She will watch over the Servant of all Faiths, certainly," Arowan replied wryly. "All the gods do. But I'd say it's obvious at this point that they hate me. If anything is watching over me, it's a demon."

"You know that isn't true," Solaufein replied sadly. "I'd be lying if I told you I had never felt that way myself… but keep faith and farewell. I have a feeling that we will meet again."

* * *

* * *

The next few days passed in a dreary blur. Arowan continued to suppress her strongest emotions and the slayer remained contained, though her face was bleeding almost constantly from scratching at her scar. This did not excite any interest in Urst Natha. Passers-by assumed that she had either been fighting or had been punished for something.

Adalon's precious eggs, it transpired, were to be used to bribe a demon and the more of Phaere's trust they gained, the more she let slip to them until in the end they knew the whole plan. Matron Mother Ardulace was keeping the eggs in the temple of Lolth. Her intention was to summon a demon, and give him the dragon eggs as payment for his aid in destroying Suldanessellar.

Viconia could not help but be impressed by the sheer audacity of this plan, but Phaere's next words to Rasaad made her insides freeze.

"I have been watching you in the fighting pits male," she smiled. "Me, and every other female in Urst Natha. You might have been wondering why none of them have demanded your presence in the bedchamber yet? Perhaps you have already guessed that I have claimed you for myself."

"I beg your pardon?" Rasaad replied, stunned.

Phaere slunk forward and ran her fingers seductively over his shoulders. Long ago, when they had first started adventuring as a group, he had been attracted to both Arowan and Viconia. If the gods had taken the worst traits of both of them and rolled them into one new person, it would be Phaere. Despite having been cursed with a strong, unwanted libido, he felt no desire to do this.

"You are a strong and powerful male, worthy of my bed. You shall remain here for a time and please me… come."

Rasaad's eyes turned automatically to Veldrin. The rest of the party looked at each other frantically. They had been vaguely aware that this sort of thing occurred in drow society, but they had not thought to discuss ahead of time what to do if it happened to one of them.

"Is this really necessary?" Arowan asked, lamely. Phaere looked at her as though she had just asked whether it was necessary to brush one's teeth.

"Of course it is necessary, fool! The fact that I command it makes it necessary." She turned back to Rasaad. "Male, remove your clothing and come to my bed chamber already."

"N… No! I do not wish this!" Rasaad protested.

"You don't have a choice, get on with it," muttered Viconia out of the corner of her mouth.

"This is acceptable to you?" the Selunite blinked.

"Who cares what is acceptable to Veldrin? Your wishes and his do not come into this!" thundered Phaere. "Refuse me again and you shall pay the ultimate price, do you understand? As for Veldrin, what do I care if you dally with him. But I'll have him executed before I allow you to choose him over me. Now come here!"

Rasaad felt like his insides were full of maggots, but he really didn't have a choice. Slowly and reluctantly he began to step toward the bedroom, taking off his shirt as he went. The tattoos adorning his muscles had been transformed by Adalon's magic into webs and spiders. Phaere admired them and licked her lips. The eyes of Selune on his chest, long-since blinded by scars, were now the many eyes of a sightless arachnid. It gave Arowan an idea.

"Apologies, mistress!" the ranger piped up suddenly. "I fear that I am responsible for this… reluctance on the part of our male."

"_You?_" Phaere narrowed her eyes.

"Yes… I er… I was his first female back in Ched Nasad and I was a little… over-enthusiastic about breaking him in. Look at his chest, he still bears the scars."

Phaere's eyes surveyed Rasaad's exposed torso, where the spider tattoos went all the way down. One of them had indeed been ruined by hideous slash marks across his chest. It was a nasty wound indeed, which had in fact been inflicted by an angry dragon, but Arowan was taking credit for it now.

"If you think that's bad you should see his legs," Arowan continued earnestly. "Show her."

Rasaad rolled up his trousers revealing twisted burn scars which contorted his flesh from foot to thigh. He had learnt to live with the disfigurement but never imagined that he would actually be grateful for it, until now.

"Unappealing but no matter," replied Phaere dismissively. "As long as his manhood is not similarly deformed."

"Yes but, you see, the problem is that I also indulged in a little psychological torture," Arowan went on. She was starting to get a grip on how the drow thought, or at least how Phaere's mind worked, and she was fairly certain she could talk their way out of this situation. "He was such a strong male, I was curious to see what it would take to break him. I succeeded too fully in my efforts. He has been unable to perform with females ever since and you especially…"

"What do you mean 'me especially?'" thundered the drow.

"Well… I mean, you look a lot like me," the ranger reminded her. "You have said so yourself."

"The sight of her makes his cock wilt," Veldrin added. "She has that effect on most males."

Phaere looked extremely put out. She cast an appraising eye over Rasaad and sniffed.

"That explains a great deal. We shall have to find the time to fix your impediment later," she mused. "A great pity that you did not inform me of this before Solaufein's death, female. I should have been most interested to unleash you on him and observe the effect. No matter. Veldrin! You will have to suffice!"

Rasaad made a strangled noise in his throat, but Viconia looked wholly indifferent. She was far more concerned about competition for her male than having sex as a power play. It was a skill that she had made use of since fleeing to the surface, with several people including the Hero of Baldur's Gate.

"Fine female, but I hope you know what you are letting yourself in for," Veldrin boasted, in her best purr. It did not suit her current form. "The last woman I took to bed I left bound and gagged outside her commanders' meeting room, and she couldn't sit down comfortably for days after."

Phaere gawped at Veldrin as he confidently began to remove his clothes, pushing out the bosom he didn't have and slinking his hips suggestively. When he gave his bum a sexy little wriggle, the other drow decided she'd had enough.

"How is it possible that you have survived this long without being murdered, male?" she marvelled. "Forget it! Put your clothes back on, I have changed my mind!"

"Perhaps I could be of assistance?" volunteered Sarevok. It had been a very long time since he'd been intimate with a woman. Unless you counted Freya's muzzle buried in his entrails as intimate.

"You?" Phaere fumed. She scowled disappointedly. "Well, you're better than nothing I suppose. I begin to understand why a band with such exceptional fighting prowess has never gained any status until now. Come male. The rest of you can wait here. Listen and learn something."

* * *

* * *

They did listen, since they were left with no other option, but all they learned was that Phaere had a powerful set of lungs on her. Sarevok was of the opinion that she'd have been even louder if he'd had use of his real body, but he did his best with what was available.

"Thank you Arowan," Rasaad said stiffly. "I appreciate you extricating me from that situation."

"Don't mention it."

"I suppose I should thank you too," Viconia acknowledged.

Arowan waited to see whether or not the drow really would thank her. Predictably she didn't, but the ranger was incapable of finding it annoying. All she could think of was tomorrow and the next day and the next. A lifetime of dreary, colourless days alone stretching endlessly ahead of her.

Eventually it became apparent that Phaere had fallen asleep after her exertions in the bed chamber. The party made themselves as comfortable as they could on the floor and drifted off one by one. All except Arowan who stared blankly at the darkened ceiling. At some point she must have slept for she remembered waking, but it was long before the others. When they broke out their morning rations she took no food, until she noticed Jaheira looking worried. Then she forced down a few mouthfuls of bread, but it was just to humour her.

When Phaere emerged she did, at least, seem to be in a better mood.

"All love is foolish," she said wistfully. "Yes, there are other males in the world. I shall not regret Solaufein's demise."

There were some in the party who were not wholly convinced that she meant this, but it made no difference. Solaufein was long gone from Urst Natha and there was still the matter of the stolen eggs.

"It is time to introduce you to the matron mother of my house," Phaere proclaimed, as though she were announcing a free banquet. Mother Ardulace is anxious to meet the group who have done so much for Urst Natha. You will accompany me to the temple. Immediately."

Lolth's temple. Viconia had not set foot in one of these for what felt like an age, and as soon as she did the sense of the Spider Queen's presence overpowered her. She began to tremble. The cruel eyes of her former mistress bore down on her from every direction. Each one of her statues, and there were many for her vanity knew no limits, bored the red-brown stains of recent offerings.

_Welcome back, little fly…_

Viconia heard the voice of Lolth in her head. It was like the scuttling of thousands of spindly legs. Her chest constricted and it became hard to breathe, as though thick cobwebs were pressing over her mouth and nose. A feeling of overwhelming anxiety gripped at her heart and the room began to spin. She knew she was here! Of course she must. She was the Servant of all Faiths, Lolth always knew where she was, probably watching her every move. Waiting for her to fulfil her purpose so that she could come for her and wreak her vengeance.

"This is the group from Urst Natha I spoke to you about Matron Mother," Phaere was saying, though Viconia was barely listening.

"Yes, yes I can see them well enough," the poison-marred old drow croaked in her ruined voice. "Praise Lolth! The ritual may finally begin! Nothing must disrupt it. I shall seal the city, lest the silver one attempt desperate action. Our house shall rule Urst Natha without challenge."

_An ambitious house. Ruthless and strong! I shall have to destroy them now, solely to preserve you Viconia, you treacherous little wasp._

Viconia slipped to the back of the group, in the hopes that the real drow would not notice her shaking hands and rapid breathing. She had slain so many in temples such as this. It had been on one of those altars that she had refused to sacrifice a baby human, only to watch him die anyway and lose everything. Part of her wished she had refused the very first time they'd put the dagger in her hands. She had been only eight then, and perhaps not the Chosen One yet. Doubtless she would have died herself. Perhaps it was not such a regret after all. Lolth found her terror thoroughly entertaining and sent the sensation of spiders crawling up her neck to torment her further

_Know that this latest malefaction will be added to your tab… but fear not. You will have eternity in the Demonweb Pits to pay off the debt you owe me. How you must fear that day…_

At that moment Viconia began to sob violent, silent tears into Rasaad's back. The monk stiffened in alarm, but Ardulace was too preoccupied to care. She was decanting the blood of the fish-prince that Phaere had brought her into a basin along with other herbs and potions. Three handmaidens lifted it carefully and carried it into a ritual room. The matron mother followed grimly and slammed the door.

Phaere led them off into a side room. A handmaiden stood to her feet when she saw them enter. Faster than a pouncing fox, the matron mother's daughter fell upon her and slit her throat. She bundled the dead priestess into a closet ignoring the blood (there was so much of it in this place nobody would notice a little more). The matron mother's daughter turned to them, eyes dancing with excitement.

"I had a dream last night after I was done with your male," she gloated. "A vision from Lolth herself. She showed me that this is her favoured house, but I am the one chosen to lead it, not mother! In my dream, I saw you swapping the silver dragon eggs with fakes. It seemed impossible, for how does one fake a dragon egg well enough to deceive the Handmaidens of Lolth in their own temple? But behold! I woke with these beneath my pillow and I saw that my dream was true."

She smiled and presented Lolth's gift to the party. There were seven fake eggs in all. Each one was a translucent silver and curled within they could just make out the shadows of dragon embryos. They were heavy and warm to the touch. Split between the party they could conceal them without difficulty.

"Go to the temple treasury," Phaere smiled. "Steal the dragon's eggs and replace them with these replicas. They will not be able to tell the difference, not when these were the gift of the goddess herself! You will then bring the real eggs to me. Matron will offer the demon the fake eggs and be killed. Then I shall offer him the real ones. The ritual shall be completed and I will be matron mother, and lead our house to victory against the darthiir!"

"Phaere!"

Somebody was calling for her out in the temple. Phaere shuddered at the voice and stroked her long fingers over the freckle-like scars on her face. She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a steel key with eight prongs at the end.

"I have to go," she whispered. "Mother needs me to help her with the ritual. Here, take the treasury key and make the switch! Bring the eggs to me!"

She hurried away, not daring to disobey the handmaidens, but eagerly plotting some retribution on those who had tortured her over Solaufein. Her former-lover's death had brought her no real peace of mind, but perhaps revenge on the ones who broke her might.

"It is a shame that Yoshimo is dead," noted Viconia casually. "Having a thief around would have been useful at this juncture."

She said it in a tone that suggested that he had been inconsiderate to die and deprive them of his skill and expertise. A fury erupted in Arowan as though her insides had burst into flame. The drow caught the look on her face and summoned her flaming sword almost as a reflex.

"What are you two doing?" Anomen asked them in an angry whisper. "Are you trying to get us all killed?"

"We have an opportunity to retrieve the dragon's eggs," Dorn concurred in an urgent growl. "I suggest you put aside your animosity for a more appropriate occasion."

Mutual disdain plastered over both of their faces, the two women backed down. Rasaad and Jaheira made a point of always walking between them for the rest of the mission. It turned out to be surprisingly straightforward. The treasury guards had all had visions from Lolth, accompanied by petrifying threats as to what would happen if any harm befell the party. As they saw them coming, each drow found an excuse to absent herself from guard duty, expressed the urge to answer a call of nature or pretended to fall asleep. One even popped her fingers into her ears and hummed loudly as a last resort.

There were some golems guarding the eggs. If they were destroyed then Ardulace would know that the room had been tampered with. Rasaad, as the fastest, was tasked with running in to make the switch. He placed the fakes down first, but as soon as he gathered up the real eggs, the golems activated.

These were stone constructions, not so huge as Firkraag's tin soldiers, but much more dangerous than the one belonging to the Umar Hills wizard. Luckily they were also slow. Rasaad was able to outpace all but the two nearest the exit. He ducked under one swinging rock fist, then vaulted over another, skidding to a halt outside the door. Jaheira slammed it shut, but the golems were pushing from the other side. Dorn, Anomen and Sarevok all threw their weight against it and between them managed to press it closed long enough for Viconia to turn the key in the latch.

Lolth's guard continued to turn a blind eye. In the side room, Phaere had returned and was awaiting them eagerly.

_The city will remain sealed while the matron mother lives. You must give Phaere the real eggs for the time being but slaughter her before she can offer them to the demon._

Why, Viconia wondered, did Lolth not simply do it herself? Or just teleport the dragon eggs back to their mother's lair?

_Insolent creature to question the gods! Silver dragons have a sort of divinity of their own and were these eggs to be touched by the power of an evilly aligned goddess they would become tainted in Adalon's eyes. As for slaying Ardulace, had she ever shown weakness or strayed from my path I might have done just that! Yet she is a real drow, a true follower whose heart belongs to the Spider Queen as it should! Slaying my own follower at the very moment she means to sacrifice an entire elfin city in my name? Even the gods have rules!_

For that matter, why not just smite the Great Evil here and now? It was a defiant spark in Viconia's mind, despite the god-terror that was filling her in Lolth's presence. In fact she was starting to find the presence of gods, while still petrifying, was losing its sting.

_That, Servant of all Faiths, is a very complex matter. _

Was it her imagination, or did Lolth herself sound uneasy? Viconia did not have time to dwell on it. Phaere was busily concealing the eggs about her person, though it meant she had to walk quite stiffly. In the depths of the temple, a gong rang, and Ardulace emerged from the ritual room. She demanded the key from her smiling daughter and headed for the treasury, emerging minutes later with the false eggs in her arms. None of the guards warned her, not daring to disobey a direct instruction from Lolth.

They followed her into the ritual room, along with the handmaidens and the guards. Nobody dared to breathe as Ardulace poured her blood potion into a ritual pit of burning embers, chanting in a dark tongue which sounded like an archaic form of drow. The fire flared and tongues of flame licked the ceiling, impossibly hot. Her followers, who were used to the cool gloom of the Underdark, flinched away from it.

A horrible snarl emerged from the flame and standing before them was a Demon Lord. He was smaller than Belhifet had been, but with the same cloven hooves and thrashing tail. Viconia squeezed her eyes shut, and Rasaad felt her hand tighten over his. He pulled her close and held her, for it hardly mattered at this point whether or not they made convincing drow.

"I HAVE COME!" the demon groaned, nostrils snorting umber smoke. "YOU HAVE WRESTED ME FROM MY PLANE ELFLINGS. HAVE GOOD REASON, OR I SHALL CLAIM MY PRICE IN ELFLING BLOOD!"

"I have good reason, Lord of the Nether Pits!" Ardulace cried. "I beseech you to aid the drow in the war against our hated surface cousins, to carve their pale flesh!"

"AND WHAT TITHE WOULD YOU OFFER ME FOR SUCH A DEED?"

Ardulace held out the fake eggs. The demon lord sniffed at them, then struck them out of her hands. They smashed against the wall of the ritual room, bursting to leave fake baby dragons shivering in a pool of silver goo.

"FOOLISH ELFLING! DID YOU THINK THAT I WOULD BE FLUMOXED BY SUCH A CRUDE DECEPTION?"

A pillar of flame, white hot and too bright to look at, engulfed the matron mother. It was so fast that she could not even scream. Before she could be dragged into hell, Lolth caught Ardulace's soul, finding it worthy of a place in the Demonweb Pits. Another loss to add to her list of grievances against Viconia DeVir.

"HOW DARE YOU CALL ME FORTH?" the demon thundered. "HOW DARE YOU TEMPT ME WITH DRAGON EGGS AND THEN DECIEVE ME! I SHALL BURN THIS CITY TO THE GROUND!"

"There!" Dorn cried suddenly, pointing Rancor at the demon. "This is the one! The Great Evil who will destroy Urst Natha. Quickly, Servant of all Faiths, destroy it as is your destiny!"

The party hesitated, for Dorn had once tried to slay the Servant of all Faiths on his master's orders and made no secret of the fact that he looked forward to the coming cull. Encouraging Viconia to fulfil her destiny did not quite stack with all of this. Yet the room was getting hotter as the demon summoned his fury. Was this some sort of elaborate double-bluff? It didn't seem the Blackguard's style but…

Before Phaere could speak, Rancor sliced through her neck. With a yell, Sarevok raced forward and caught the body before the eggs could hit the floor. There was so much blood. It brought back a memory that wrenched at his guts. The memory of the Hero of Baldur's Gate kicking down the door to his own temple, and behind her Tamoko's headless body lying forlornly on the step. It had affected him in a way he never expected it to. The sudden, stark knowledge that nothing he could do would ever bring her back. Except, perhaps ascension, but even then they would be separated forever.

This time when Lolth came to claim her follower's soul the demon beat her to it, but Dorn hacked his hand off. This was only a lesser Demon Lord and no match for the power of his patron. The unlucky hell-fiend howled in pain and unholy fury, but the half-orc merely laughed.

"No, this one is not for either of you," Dorn said in a low voice. He felt Ur-Gothoz's pleasure through the blade. The first soldier in his new army of souls had at last been harvested.

Arowan blanched. She had not liked Phaere, but from what Solaufein described she had not always been this way. At some point in the past, the Handmaidens of Lolth had tortured her into the ruthless psychopath she eventually became. An eternity in hell seemed too high a price to pay for a fate which was ultimately not her fault. She prayed silently to Ilmater that he might forgive her, but as always she heard no response. It seemed that the drow was destined to join Ur Gothoz.

_Thus passes a real drow._

Lolth's voice echoed spitefully in Viconia's head. There was a demon in front of her. Either would drag her into eternal torment if she lost this battle. The gods might protect her from many things, but demons were not in their direct power to control. Viconia resolved not to lose.


	53. Escape from the Underdark

An alarm rang out throughout the city. They had been so preoccupied with Phaere, Ardulace and their summoned fiend that they had quite forgotten Lolth's Handmaidens were still in the summoning room. Their goddess had warned them not to harm Viconia, but had said nothing about standing still while a raging demon dragged their souls into the underworld. One of them must have slipped away and raised the alert. The party would have no option but to fight their way out of Urst Natha and the creature in front of them was the least of their problems now.

"I swear I was born into a dragon's latrine!" screamed Anomen, completely losing it. "Every time I dare to think that things cannot conceivably get worse, the gods shovel a bigger load of steaming turds upon me!"

"Stand back everyone!" Dorn cried. He pointed the tip of his sword dramatically at their demonic foe. "Now is your moment of glory, Servant of all Faiths! Send the Great Evil back to the hells from whence it came!"

Rasaad and Anomen backed up to give Viconia room, leaving her facing the demon alone. She summoned her flaming sword and braced herself to save Urst Natha. There was no option but to fight, even if finally fulfilling her destiny meant freeing Lolth to exact her vengeance.

Without warning a fire arrow hurtled past her shoulder, singeing her hair with an acrid smell. The missile struck the demon in the chest with a solid thud and bounced off harmlessly. Vines wrapped about its goat-like legs binding it, though it shook the spell off quickly. Over her shoulder she saw Jaheira summoning creatures and Arowan lining up a second shot. They both looked livid.

"Were you accursed males born yesterday?" screamed Jaheira, who had adapted to the drow lifestyle a little too easily. "Why in the name of Sylvanus are you listening to Dorn Il-Khan?"

"He wants Viconia dead, moron!" Arowan's words were directed particularly at Rasaad. "He's trying to dupe you into backing off so that she's left to face the demon alone!"

Dorn grinned tuskily and shrugged. It had been worth a try.

Rasaad startled as he realised the truth of her words, and immediately overcompensated, throwing himself at the demon with a spectacular series of kicks and punches. Feeling rather foolish, Anomen joined in with Sarevok close behind, but though they kept it at bay none of them were inflicting any real damage. They themselves suffered the occasional slash from its tail and the claws of its remaining hand, but with three healers in the party it could make little headway either. They had achieved a stalemate. Dorn looked at Arowan with a grin.

"Only a matter of time, Little Lamb," he taunted her. "None of them possess weapons powerful enough to pierce it."

"Sarevok, you do!" screamed Viconia. "That's Bhaal's sword you're carrying! Do something!"

"It seems that since Irenicus took my Bhaal essence it is not performing for me as it used to," he panted as he hacked fruitlessly at the demon's hide. "I cannot seem to harm this demon!"

The half-orc was watching them all fight, his own sword hanging loosely by his side. He was waiting, presumably, for the demise of the Servant of all Faiths. The gods had protected her from many deaths over the years but demon lords were outside of their direct control. It was unnatural, the way the horned beast fought on, even after Dorn had sliced off his hand.

"Everybody fall back!" Arowan shouted. The Blackguard stiffened in alarm as she lowered her bow. "Dorn, finish the beast or _I _will die first."

With that she placed herself between the party and the demon, ignoring Jaheira's yell of alarm. She wasn't frightened. After all the effort the half-orc had gone to for the sake of following her around, she was sure that he wouldn't let her die. Even if he did, she was no longer so troubled by the notion of death. Perhaps if the demon dragged her soul into hell she might even see Yoshimo again…

"Fine!" Dorn grunted resentfully. He lifted Rancor and strode forward. At the sight of him approaching, the lesser demon lord seemed to change his mind. Clinging onto the dripping stump of his arm with an expression that wished them all nothing but ill, he vanished into whatever plane he'd been dragged from and the fire flickered and died.

Jaheira hastily gathered up the eggs, splitting them between her and Anomen so that they each had less to carry.

Outside of the temple, the entire city was in uproar. There were intruders, they were under attack, but nobody seemed to know by whom or where they were. Suspicion automatically turned to anyone who was not drow. Visiting traders and many of the slaves were set upon in the chaos that ensued. The marketplace was soon a paddling pool of blood. Arowan wanted to stop and help them, but Dorn seized her roughly by the arm and dragged her along with irresistible force.

Only when the party tried to leave did their hosts remember the foreigners from Ched Nasad. Immediately the crossbows came out, and both Rasaad and Sarevok took barbed bolts to the arm that would rip their limbs when it came time to pull them out. Anomen's armour blocked another, before one ricocheted dangerously close to Viconia's head.

_Must I intervene again?_

There was a horrible scuttering of legs and a clicking of pincers, but this time it wasn't merely in Viconia's head. All of the spiders in Urst Natha were assembling by the entrance. As they climbed one atop the other, they constructed a vast writhing, living mass in the form of a female drider.

At once the drow dropped their weapons and prostrated themselves in terrified subservience. Lolth's personal appearances were frequent enough that this one did not induce any particular excitement, but Jaheira's group were able to flee the city without further hindrance.

They were, however, forced to pass under the goddess's many legs. As they approached her a grotesque mask of moving spiders with holes for the eyes and mouth turned to Viconia and smiled. The drow forced herself to keep running, beneath the face and under Lolth's carapace which she lowered slowly as they passed, threatening to squash them just to be cruel.

Webs appeared before them, tangling unpleasantly in their fingers and hair. Some of the smaller spiders descended on silken threads to crawl on their skin and bite at them with painful little nips. They seemed to be particularly targeting Viconia.

By the time they were clear of the city, the drow was blinded by tears and stumbling after the sound of the other's footsteps.

"You!" Rasaad blazed, rounding on Dorn Il-Khan. "You have made your last attempt on Viconia's life!"

He wrenched the barbed crossbow bolt from his shoulder, spraying the half-orc with blood. Dorn licked it off his chops, apparently savouring it, and raised his sword to fight.

Rasaad dodged the first two swings of the sword, so Dorn changed strategy. He let Rasaad hit him, splitting his lip and sending blood dribbling down his chops. In the opening that this created, he managed to seize the monk's forearm, and he had difficulty pulling away. Dorn then brought up his knee, but Rasaad was too quick and wrapped his leg about the orc's shin. Then the Blackguard pulled a move which sparring in the monastery had not prepared him for. Life as a street orphan had, but his fellow urchins had had much smaller teeth. He yelled as the other man's tusks dug into his arm and refused to let go, shaking like a terrier.

Yet he had been a street fighter before he had been a disciplined monk, and it came back to him all too easily these days. In expecting him to fight fair, Dorn had both over- and under-estimated his opponent. Rasaad tightened his leg around his thigh and used it as a spring board to bring his other knee up into his crotch. Dorn grunted and doubled over before the monk struck him a second time in the face.

For all Rasaad's skill, there was no way around the fact that Dorn was infused with demon powers. With a roar that doused the other man in spit, he lunged forward and tackled Rasaad into the dirt, ignoring his ribs cracking from the monk's punches so that he could pummel him with the hilt of his sword over and over.

"Call him off!" Viconia screamed at Arowan, as she healed Rasaad.

"Strictly speaking, your monk is attacking Dorn, not the other way around," the ranger pointed out. Viconia glared at her. "Well I can try, but I don't think he'll listen to me. Dorn! Play nicely with Rasaad."

"Stay out of this Little Lamb, it has nothing to do with you," Dorn replied indifferently.

"If you can't rein in your stinking brute, I will kill him!" Viconia screeched at her. She was still badly shaken from Lolth.

Arowan turned to face her with an uncomprehending expression. She looked around at each of them in turn, then threw open her arms in exasperation.

"Is that supposed to be a _threat?_" she retorted. "You lot are the ones who invited Dorn into the group, not me. I don't give a damn! You're wasting your time though. If you kill him, Ur-Gothoz will only send another Blackguard."

"I will take that chance," replied Rasaad from the floor. Viconia stepped up to aid him and they were joined by Anomen. Dorn looked decidedly unimpressed.

"Sarevok," the half-orc leered, "You still need to retrieve your soul from Irenicus if you wish to survive. Whose aid do you think will get you further. Mine or theirs?"

He broke Rasaad's nose with Rancor's hilt, by way of illustrating his point.

"Yours, but why should I trust you Blackguard?" Sarevok's eyes narrowed. "What is to stop you from simply abandoning me the moment we return to the surface?"

"A few things," replied Dorn idly, dropping Rasaad and getting to his feet. Viconia rushed forward to heal her lover, but he didn't care. He was running his thick fingers along his blade. "Principally that my patron has ordered me to stay with the Little Lamb, and I know that she will insist upon helping you. Her guilt must be crippling her by now. She will try to make amends if she can."

"I am standing right here!" Arowan snapped.

"Why else?" pressed Sarevok.

"Because stopping Irenicus is _necessary,_" Dorn replied. For some reason he laid a delicate, mocking stress on the word. "Because it is _important._"

Before Sarevok could make up his mind, there was a flapping of silver wings. It stirred up an eye-stinging cloud of dust from the floor. When they opened them, they found that they had resumed their usual appearance, and Adalon was back among them. She was smiling at them, an elegant fanged smile, for her attitude toward them all was much improved.

"You have returned victorious!" she cried ecstatically. "I sense my beautiful eggs amongst you. Give them to me!"

Jaheira and Anomen hastily handed her the eggs, which she was able to carry in one claw, cradling them gently. She whispered to them in a language the rest of them were not familiar with, but the little dragons in their translucent shells responded with wriggles and wagging tails.

There was one more bundle in her talon of a similar size which was not like the others.

"Give it back," Arowan said in a constricted voice. "Now."

Even the return of her eggs did not seem to make Adalon like the ranger any better. She lifted the heart, which was now carefully wrapped in layers of silver silk, between her claws and placed it into Arowan's hands. She seemed to be taking excessive care not to touch her.

"I shall transport us all to the exit and see you safely away," Adalon said. She was addressing Viconia warmly, but her eyes kept flickering toward Arowan. She was holding Yoshimo's heart in both hands, unable to keep tears from leaking down her face.

Right now he was in hell, and even if the Painbearers could petition Ilmater to bring him out of it, they were parted forever. Her own soul was destined for the Abyss with all the other Bhaalspawn. She was determined, willing to pay any price, not to become Bhaal. Yet she could not think of any way to avoid it.

"What happens to Urst Natha now?" asked Arowan, though she no longer really cared. She just felt as though she ought to, which was not the same thing.

"What happens to _me _now?" Viconia asked, almost in a whimper. "The Great Evil is defeated, the city is saved and yet Lolth let me go! Why?"

"Perhaps she was grateful?" suggested Rasaad.

Adalon turned her lizard-like head in the direction of the drow city and sighed.

"The demon that Matron Mother Ardulace brought forth was evil but it was not _the _evil of which you speak. That time has not yet come, but it is near at hand. Urst Natha will bitterly regret forfeiting my protection." She stretched and flexed her silver wings. "Well, so be it. I will not stand in the way of their fate after what they have done to me."

"You do not mean to punish those responsible for aiding Irenicus and Ardulace in committing this crime?" Jaheira asked archly.

"Revenge would achieve nothing…" she replied.

"You are most merciful, Silver Lady," Rasaad praised her.

"…because they are all going to be butchered anyway."

A blinding flash of silver light engulfed them, along with a rush of air like the beating of Adalon's wings. They opened their eyes to find themselves in a dank cave surrounded by the bodies of drow and, to their surprise, surface elves.

"The way to the surface is clear," Adalon told them. "I refuse to continue to guard a peace that does not exist. I leave this place forever, and I suggest you do the same. Those of you who can, anyway."

For the briefest of moments, her crystal eyes fell sadly on Anomen. Then she glowed for a moment with the purest light and vanished before their eyes.

* * *

* * *

After climbing for what seemed like an age, they emerged blinking into daylight. Even Viconia was relieved to see it.

The party found themselves in an elfin temple, where a battle was rounding up between a raiding party of drow and surface elves. Fearing that they would attack her on sight, Viconia began to make a point of healing the injured darthiir, while sheltering behind Rasaad. She made a very big show of it, asking the healed elves loudly if they were alright and trying to sound as un-drow as possible. It seemed to do the trick because when the last of the raiders fell, the elf captain whipped his helmet off revealing a cascade of golden-blonde hair.

"You there! Your group are not of the drow! Get to the surface and report to Elhan immediately!" His eyes turned to Viconia. "You travel with one among you. Are you collaborators? Have you betrayed us all to the darkness below? If I had not just seen her heal our own soldiers I would have slain you all on sight, but I know not what to make of this."

He thought for a moment. His eyes lingered with distaste on Dorn Il-Khan and Sarevok's Bhaal-marked sword, but he also took in the presence of a Sun Soul monk and the symbol of Ilmater about Arowan's neck.

"Elhan will judge," he decided finally. "You will remain under guard until he is ready to see you. Make no move, you will be watched closely."

He led them past crumbling statues of elven gods, dating back from before their pantheon split into two. Even then it was easy to spot which one was Lolth. Her bent, spider like fingers and sly smile the earliest hints of what she would later become.

Most of the elves paid the prisoners little attention. They had a haggard, beleaguered look about them as they rushed to and from the front lines. It seemed they were rotating to keep back the constant raids from below.

"Who has the upper hand in this do you suppose, now that the demon is gone?" whispered Rasaad.

"Difficult to say," murmured Viconia. "It depends how long the conflict goes on for. Short-term the dathiir do, they are battling the in their own territory. Drow are always at a disadvantage on the surface, except for the few who have had time to grow accustomed to it as I have. On the other hand, darthiir have few children over the course of their very long lives. In prolonged conflicts they replace themselves too slowly. It's why they're dying out. Whereas drow can breed continually for hundreds of years. Ultimately we can win any war of attrition."

They sat down, conspicuously motionless in the bustling war camp. Arowan found a little comfort in the presence of the trees. They were ancient here, and so huge that it would take three of them to loop their arms around one trunk. She sat down, still holding Yoshimo's bandaged heart in her hands.

"Could you resurrect him from that?" suggested Dorn.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Jaheira snapped. "He has been dead for days and there is barely anything there to resurrect. Besides, if you did, the geas would still apply."

"Bubbles managed to bring back a Bhaalspawn with less than a heart," the Blackguard replied. His hand tightened on the hilt of Rancor as his patron spoke to him through it, telling him what to say. "It was only a suggestion. Pardon my ignorance, when it comes to life and death I have only ever been interested in sending traffic one way."

With the seeds of an idea planted in his comrades' minds, he leaned back and waited for them to grow. Arowan was no fool. If he directly suggested that she put on Eric's ring, she would tell him to burn in hell. Better to let her imagine that she had thought of it herself. Sure enough…

"A temple cleric could not do what Bubbles did!" Jaheira scoffed. "She had all of Eric's knowledge of necromancy in that ring."

Eric, a man who had started off very bright then stolen the intelligence tomes that Gorion had intended for Freya. Who'd had free reign of the library at Candlekeep, then the brutal real-life training of Irenicus and the Black Pits. He could do things that others couldn't.

Jaheira was right, all of that knowledge was contained in the ring. A ring now free of any geas if Dorn was to be believed.

The fingers of Arowan's left hand brushed the ring in her pocket. Her right hand closed around Yoshimo's unbeating heart. If there was a way… After everything she had done already, everything she had lost… Why not roll the dice one last time?

Because it was necromancy, that was why not. The antithesis of natural order and an ultimate betrayal of Ilmater. No. She would not slide further down the dark path her siblings were taking toward becoming Bhaal. Yoshimo's heart would go to the Temple of Ilmater and she would trust in him to save him from the hells.

"Well. I thank you for coming."

They looked up. An elf commander was glaring down his long nose at them. At least, they assumed he was an elf from the pointy ears, though he did not have the physical beauty one normally associated with elves. His ears stuck out too far and he had a rather weak chin. He reminded Arowan of the nobility of Baldur's Gate and she wondered if elfin high-ups also married their cousins.

He was flanked by three pasty faced elves in flowing white robes, each with vines woven into their hair. Their eyes glowed with ethereal light, like Sarevok's. This was, in truth, nothing but a glamour. Purely the effect of a spell which anybody with divine ancestry, however remote, could achieve. Caelar Argent had done the same thing to encourage followers to her crusade, for glowing eyes were very impressive to those who didn't know better. It was, however, a little embarrassing to run into someone else playing the same trick. He and the sages decided to ignore one another.

"Oh please," snapped Viconia. "It is clear that I am not welcome here!"

"No, you are not," agreed Elhan. "Not just you drow, but any of you. I shall keep this brief as I have little time to waste. I will ask some questions and you will speak what you know. My sages will detect any falsehood. They are very good at this sort of thing. Now then, something simple and direct to begin with. You were emerging from the home of the drow."

"Yes," replied Jaheira.

"Truth."

"Truth."

"Truth!"

"I hadn't finished my question yet!" Elhan said through gritted teeth.

"Truth."

"Truth."

"Truth!"

"Not me! Them!" Elhan snapped impatiently. "I don't need you to tell me whether _I'm_ telling the truth. Obviously I know whether I'm telling the truth or lying! Answer for the prisoners! Only the prisoners!"

"We were fleeing the Underdark," Jaheira said. "We are not allies of the drow. Our pursuit of this man, Sarevok, led us down there. Though we have since… reconciled our differences. Some of them anyway. You are still a rancid abomination unto nature Sarevok."

"Truth."

"Truth."

"Truth!"

"Couldn't just one of you say 'truth?'" Arowan asked. "Also, what happens if two of you say truth and the other says false? Does it come down to a vote?"

"Our divination is a triangulation of the emissions given off by the currents of your nervous systems," one of the sages explained cheerfully. "There is no possibility, therefore, of us coming away with different answers. Technically one of us could say 'truth' instead of all three but if one spoke for the others it would create a hierarchy between the three of us and we consider ourselves to be an egalitarian…"

"ENOUGH!" blasted Elhan. "I ask the questions. You answer the questions, and these three tell me whether you are telling the truth or lying. Stop overcomplicating!"

"Do they follow you everywhere you go?" asked Arowan. "That must get very annoying."

"Have some respect human!" the elf commander retorted snootily. "The sages of our Elf Queen's Court are not _annoying!_"

"False."

"False."

"Fal- hey!"

"Let us continue," growled Elhan, pinching the bridge of his nose. "A name then, that you may know something of. Irenicus. Do you know him?"

Jaheira laughed, a dry bitter laugh.

"Yes, I know him. He is responsible for the deaths of my husband and son-in-law. He has perverted the laws of nature, tortured countless innocents and stolen the souls of at least four people."

"Four?" frowned Sarevok. "Who were the others?"

"Dynaheir, Skie Silvershield and a piece of Imoen… or Draxle depending on how you look at it," Jaheira frowned. "Or perhaps you, Imoen and Draxle all come under the heading of Bhaal. That's not important."

"Truth."

"Truth that it's not important, or truth that Jon… that Irenicus has been stealing souls?" Elhan asked. He was starting to get a headache. "You know what, forget it. They're obviously not in league with him or the drow. You three can go now. Be somewhere else. Just go."

"Can we go too?" Dorn rumbled, already bored.

"Not yet. If you seek Irenicus we may be able to assist each other," Elhan said wearily. "He has violated our city and hidden it. Suldanessellar is simply gone. We cannot dispel the magics which conceal it, and so are forced to remain here pestered by drow while our supplies dwindle. It is most unfortunate timing that they should both attack at once."

"Fortune be damned. Irenicus put the drow up to this," Anomen said. Elhan did not appear surprised.

"There is one way to reach him and the city," he mused. Within the temple ruins on which we now stand was an artefact of great power. The Rhynn Lanthorn. It is an ancient lantern attuned to the elven nation and no magic can bar its return to our homeland. If we had it, we could simply walk into Suldanessellar. Someone stole the relic when the temple fell to the drow. It was clearly a servant of Irenicus capitalizing on the chaos. Our sages have not been able to determine where it went, which makes me think that it must be outside of elven territory."

"Bodhi will have it," Jaheira replied. Anomen made a gagging noise and pretended to vomit causing the half-elf to raise an eyebrow at him. "What is the matter, not keen to see her again? She certainly appreciated you. I'm sure she would love to add you to her little court…"

"Court?" echoed Elhan, his long nose sniffing in distaste. "What filth has she sunk to now?"

"The piece of Bhaalspawn soul she stole belonged to a deceased girl named Draxle," Anomen groaned. "Apparently she was somewhat enamoured with knightly rituals and chivalric romance. A trait with which Bodhi is now infected. Irenicus said she has taken to turning young squires and paladins into vampires so that she can… I don't know what," he finished lamely.

"Use them as sex toys presumably," said Jaheira, whose bluntness on this subject was legendary. "She was quite taken with Anomen here."

Anomen thought of Bodhi in her too-tight leathers and cringed at the sort of things that was likely to involve. There had been a time that he'd have appreciated _any _woman in his bed, but his attitude had been tempered somewhat by his experience with Safana. He was no longer of the opinion that anything was better than nothing.

"My condolences," said Elhan. "But I must ask you to brave her presence once more, nauseating though it must be. We cannot march on human territories ourselves. Whatever our problems they will only get worse if we appear to be invading or spying upon Amn. It sounds as though you know the nature of the vile creature that you must face. Your service is now doubly appreciated. Unfortunately I must bring up a final point of contention. This drow. I cannot allow her to accompany you."

Viconia spat something in drow. Under the circumstances this hardly endeared her to her surface elf captors.

"Very well. There is one way I can allow her to participate. She must first swear loyalty to you and your cause."

"That's a little awkward," began Anomen. "Since most of us are already sworn to her and her cause. She is the Servant of all Faiths."

Whether Elhan knew what this meant or not, he was not interested. If he was anything like the lords of Baldur's Gate, Arowan reflected, he would probably have been more impressed if she'd told him her parents were brother and sister. That was the sort of status the wealthy seemed to respect.

"Finding Irenicus is mainly Sarevok's cause," nodded Rasaad, "And while stopping Irenicus and saving Suldanessellar is a quest to which I will gladly lend my aid, swearing loyalty to the butcher of Baldur's Gate seems (if you'll pardon my saying so) something of a moral step backward."

"She could swear loyalty to me?" Dorn suggested helpfully.

"For Shar's sake! I will swear loyalty to the cause of defeating Irenicus. There. Will that do?"

"No. You must also agree to a geas. It is the only way. Swear it to…" he looked around at the possible candidates and immediately decided on the Selunite or the Ilmatari. "The monk."

"The monk is her lover," chipped in Dorn. "Better have her swear it to the Ilmatari."

"No geas."

"Arowan, I hardly see how it matters if she's going to do it anyway…" Jaheira began.

"No geas."

The ranger's voice was soft and dangerous. Her dark brown eyes looked up at their captors with a hollow haunted expression. The Ilmatari had seemed so innocuous to him at first glance with her plain clothes and friendly freckled nose. Yet there was something about her cold demeanour and deadened voice that he didn't quite like. Suddenly he found himself going off the idea in a big way.

"Sir!" the sages had returned in a hurry. "The drow have launched a fresh assault to the East from underground tunnels. They've captured seven of our warriors and a priest."

"Forget the geas, I don't have time for you anymore!" Elhan snapped. "Just retrieve the Rhynn Lanthorn and hurry."

He strode away into the trees, calling for reinforcements as he went. More elves stumbled wearily from their tents as he passed and followed him. Several of them were limping. Dorn was glaring at Arowan with ill-disguised fury.

"Do you have any notion of the opportunity you just threw away?" he growled. "Well Little Lamb, when you end up as roast mutton on the end of Viconia's flaming sword, do not come crying to me!"

"There will be no geas," Arowan repeated, her hand tightening around the bundle that was Yoshimo's heart. She had not put it down since Adalon returned it to her. "This is not up for discussion."


	54. Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's note: Hope everyone is keeping well. Lockdown is making it tricky to find time to write, work and attempt to coax my little Zhentaspawns into some semblance of basic numeracy, so chapters may be a bit slower to appear than usual. x

The moon hung round and bright in the sky. Viconia did not find this open roofed world as terrifying at night, for the black sky was not so very different from a cavern roof and she could pretend that the thousands of stars were myconid spores.

It was a different sort of existential terror that pressed on her heart tonight.

Their campfire was dying low, and the remnants of their meal were scattered about it. Dorn and Sarevok were in the habit of leaving their leftovers instead of burying them or throwing them into the woods. When Jaheira irritably pointed out that this was likely to attract rats, Dorn had failed to see the problem, and volunteered to eat them too.

Viconia did not object to having Dorn in the company, despite his murderous intent toward her. As a drow, being surrounded by allies who would murder her if they got the chance was comfortable and familiar. He couldn't kill her, that was the material point.

It had been a gruelling day, and she was the only one still outside, except for Rasaad who was finishing off his evening meditations. She approached him cautiously.

"Rasaad?"

There was not a flicker of movement nor reply. He sat with his bare tattooed back to her, perfectly still and serene. How could he be, when they had stood in the presence of Lolth herself?

"Rasaad? If you would please sit with me for a moment before you retire, I would be grateful," she tried again.

The monk did not acknowledge her or stir. She stepped around to look at him and found his face as peaceful and relaxed as moonlight on still water. A breeze ruffled the grass around him but he remained sedate like a rock.

Her muscles tensed and her eyes started to prickle. She had opened up to him, shown him vulnerability and he had the nerve to respond by ignoring her?

"Have it your way, Jaluk!" she cried angrily. "But if I catch your miserable cow-eyes upon me again after this, I shall pluck them out!"

Rasaad startled. His eyes sprang open and he looked about him frantically as though expecting some attack.

"Whu- what?" he called blearily.

Viconia took a step backward. Then she spluttered with laughter. Rasaad sat up straighter, adjusted himself into the perfect lotus pose and took a deep breath.

"Good evening Viconia," he greeted her mildly. "After all that has transpired in the darkness below, I am thankful to meditate once more in Selune's light. How may I enlighten you?"

"You were asleep!"

"You are mistaken," replied Rasaad in the same calm tone, but his face gave him away by turning pink. "I was… I was contemplating the constellations. Originating from the Underdark, Viconia, your eyes are unbiased by the pictures named by others. What shapes do you see the stars make?"

She looked up at them, and the sight of starlight reflecting in her ruby eyes yanked painfully at his heart.

"I see… a pale scattering of pointless little dots!" Viconia snapped suddenly. The truth was that all she could see were spiders in their silver webs, branching out their twinkling legs across the night sky. Her mind was so dominated by the eight-legged fiends that her imagination could produce nothing else. "And speaking of little dots, you appear to be sitting on some. Did you know?"

Rasaad sighed. He shifted in the dry grass and realised that he had been perched on an ants' nest. Once again he had cause to be grateful for the scars on his legs, for though his pants were crawling with the things, they would have a hard time biting through his warped, thickened skin. Apart from his backside, unfortunately, which had been spared the dragon's fire.

"You want to be more careful," Viconia warned him. "Firkraag told us that those things can strip a whole panther to the bone if they catch it _sleeping._"

"I was not sleeping, I was in deep meditation," he replied defensively. "And these are not the sort of ants Firkraag was talking about."

"How different could ants be?" the drow sneered at them.

"As different as humans, dwarves, elves and drow," Rasaad murmured, gently brushing as many ants as would easily come off onto the grass. "I am no entomologist, but I believe I have come up with my own name for this species. I shall call them Safana Ants."

"Why Safana Ants?" Viconia asked. Rasaad shifted his pants uncomfortably.

"Because I am currently experiencing discomfort similar to Anomen's after he-" the monk was cut off by a very loud squeak. Viconia was laughing, even as she cast a healing spell to relieve the ant bites. For the second time that evening he felt a powerful pull of affection. He adored her ridiculous drow-laugh. "Apologies for that unworthy joke but they reminded me of it. What can I do for you, Viconia?"

She sat down beside him, taking a moment to look over his broad frame. To her surprise, she had not preferred him as a drow. Perhaps it was the spider tattoos.

"I find myself uncharacteristically overcome with anxiety and I am not eager to be alone for the evening," she confessed. "May I stay with you for a time?"

"Certainly Viconia, but you're shaking! What is the matter?" the monk's brow furrowed in concern.

"I have been thinking of Lolth and her threats. She is cruel, not known for forgiveness, and always takes revenge… what you suggested about gratitude? Impossible. It will not matter if I save every worshipper she has as the Servant of all Faiths. She never fails to collect the lapsed and the fallen. I know that she will come for me."

"We will deal with that when it happens," he told her gently. "The other gods may protect you from her. Shar…"

"Lolth once warned me that Shar does nothing out of kindness. Nothing!" Viconia cried. "I fear that when all this is over, she may turn on me too. I have committed transgressions against her. Defying Alorgoth, sparing the monks of the Twofold Trust… and you."

"Perhaps they will forget about you?" Rasaad put his arm around the shaking woman, stroking her soothingly to comfort her. She found that it was working and buried herself into his arms as she hadn't done since taking the form of Veldrin. "Lolth will have no further reason to take a personal interest in you. She may simply let it go."

Viconia shook her head frantically. Her silver hair swished this way and that as she spoke, catching the light of the moon. He wished that he could free her from the prejudice she faced, the threat of the gods and the curse that was being the Servant of all Faiths. If he could bear the burden himself, he would.

"She will never let it go, never! She never forgives a trespass. That appearance she made at the gate was no rarity. Lolth keeps a frightening thrall over her sect, visiting from the Demonweb as often as a peasant visits a greengrocer." Viconia whimpered. "She will answer any summons simply to make a vainglorious entrance and impress the gathered. I have seen her power, what she does to those who fall from grace."

"I wonder…" Rasaad said suddenly. It had struck him that Lolth was not the only god they knew with a penchant for grand entrances coupled with a bit of an arrogant streak.

"I dream of my brother sometimes," she said, her voice rising in panic. "I try to speak to him, but he is only a monster now and I scream when his horrid spider legs reach for me. I think, if she has done this to Valas, what will she do to me? What worse torments await me when she finally decides to come?"

She started to cry; deep throaty sobs into his chest. Rasaad held her, desperate to save her and make things alright, but what could he possibly do against the power of a goddess? The only comfort now was that her role as the Servant of all Faiths was not yet fulfilled, which put her temporarily beyond Lolth's reach.

"Rasaad, I am frightened to my very core! Do not leave me alone!" she begged. "Stay with me this night. I… I need to feel your flesh against mine, to embrace your strength…"

The monk was torn. This felt very much like taking advantage of a vulnerable woman and yet he longed more than anything to take her terror away, and somehow he didn't think that talking and meditation were going to cut it.

"I am not sure," he began weakly.

"I am!" Viconia insisted, her red eyes wide and pleading. "I must feel your strength within and around me. To believe that the evils that plague us can be defeated. Do not deny me this! I offer to you all the pleasures that a drow woman may bestow if you will but stay with me tonight."

"It is your heart that I want, more than your body," he murmured.

"Don't say that!" she wept. "One of our group has nothing _but _a heart tonight and I am sure she would tell you that body is better. When Yoshimo died, I could not even delight properly in Arowan's misfortune! All I could think was that next time it might be you!"

The monk felt as though he was drowning in her jewel-like eyes. Tears were clinging to her eyelashes, which were silver like her hair. He ran his fingers through it before pressing his mouth against hers. He found her lips burning with heat and practically battering his in their eagerness. Her tongue flicked at them and he opened his mouth a little to let her explore it.

"Very well," he said softly when they broke apart, taking her hand.

He had not yet unpacked his own bedroll, so rather than returning to camp he led her to a glade a short distance into the wood. She watched him roll it out carefully, her blood burning with desire. This was what she had wanted so badly for so long.

He unlaced her tunic with frustrating slowness, but she could see his pulse quickening in his neck in a very satisfying way. Her hands scrambled against the ties of his shirt, hurrying to loosen them and push the white linen from him. Apparently she had missed a few because there was a loud ripping noise. She paused, but he grabbed the ruined garment and tore it off the rest of the way, tossing it aside into the branches of a young sapling.

This was more like it! She could see the fire in his eyes and decided to provoke him further.

Stepping away from him, she let her top drop to the floor, showing him her naked body.

Rasaad's head swam. Even by elfin standards she was stunning. His eyes were drawn automatically to the curves of her breasts and hips, which were rounded and perfectly formed. They were not as large as he'd assumed and if he had been able to tear his eyes away to look at her discarded clothing, he might have noticed a certain amount of padding poking out of the tunic.

As it was, he was past distraction. Ironically, never in his years of practising meditation, had he ever achieved focus as complete as this. All he could see was her pinched waist, effortlessly toned stomach and thighs and the light and shadow playing in her silver-white hair.

If there were a Twofold goddess, a divine being halfway between the darkness and the light, then surely this must be her avatar.

The monk felt his lower half uncomfortably constrained and kicked off his remaining clothes. Now it was Viconia's turn to stare. She had seen him before, unable to resist sneaking a peek while he was bathing, so she'd had her hopes. Only in her experience, males who appeared larger than average often grew no further when stimulated, and so ended up a regular size. Rasaad did not disappoint in this regard.

She crossed the short distance between them and kissed him again. His bare skin felt smooth and cool, and hard like a rock. All except for his warm mouth, and his cock which was burning against her hips as he kissed her.

"Shar will not smile upon this," he warned her. Yet this did not stop him from lifting her from her feet and carrying her back to his bedroll.

"Neither will the Milk Maiden," snapped Viconia, wrapping her slender legs about him. "Would you have me beside you anyway, regardless of the consequences?"

"I would," he admitted hoarsely.

Hearing him say those words send shivers up and down her spine. He was losing himself not only to her arms but to the shadows, to the Twofold heresy itself. Whatever he had once aspired to be, he was no true child of the light, just as she failed to qualify for true darkness. He gasped as she nipped his collarbone lightly. The paths of good and evil were so straight and clear. Whereas the middle ground was a writhing forest, dense and chaotic.

She ran her hand over the broad, honed muscles of his chest and down his arm. Rasaad lowered her gently onto her back, heart thumping, and looked into her red eyes sparkling up at him. The way her hair spilled over the ground and her breasts moved below him was more than he could stand.

He kissed first one and then the other, flicking her nipple with his tongue to elicit a small gasp. Her hand pressed the back of his head, encouraging him to keep going. Viconia could feel the tip of him at her entrance and bucked her hips a little to urge him in

This was not how she had been taught the erotic arts. She couldn't be impressing or intimidating him as she was supposed to.

"Let me partake of you Rasaad and drink of your courage now. See what a female drow may offer; I shall ignite your passions and your senses like no other before or after!"

She guided him onto his back. At first he seemed confused, but her fingers brushed at his straining bulge and he stopped resisting her. He lay back, fingers winding in the blanket as her own hands stroked up and down, tracing little patterns along the shaft. This was heaven. He wanted to look at her but was afraid to open his eyes in case it turned out that this was all a dream.

Only when her hand withdrew, leaving him thrusting at empty air, did he open them to see her head dipping between his legs.

"What are you doing?" he asked nervously.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Viconia asked, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. Her amusement made him flush. "Don't tell me my monk is so innocent that he hasn't even heard of…"

"I am familiar with the concept of… ah… oral intimacy, yes," he said hastily.

"_Oral intimacy?"_ Viconia echoed with a squeaking giggle. "And do you enjoy it? I am guessing not since the prospect frightens you so. I won't bite you know."

"I… I…" Rasaad answered, chest rising and falling rapidly. The blood was flooding so aggressively round his body that he feared he might pass out.

"You've never tried it have you?" she gasped. He flushed very red this time, but the drow looked delighted. "I wonder what else you have not experienced?"

She dragged her tongue over the length of him. He had no control over this overpowering rush of pleasure and when she withdrew it was agony. Rasaad threw back his head and groaned. Viconia was throbbing between her thighs, but the ache to be filled would have to wait. This needed exploring further.

Even she could not take the whole of him into her mouth, but her tongue worked his head expertly, until he was moaning loudly and a salty drop of precum appeared and was licked away.

"So tell me male, what else haven't you tried?" she asked, sitting on her haunches.

"I am no virgin if that is your question," Rasaad panted, sitting up purposefully. He was desperate to enter her but she was not about to let him have it. He had kept her waiting this long, now he could wait a little longer.

"You _will _answer me," Viconia smiled dangerously. She took him into her mouth for another three strokes, releasing him with a loud pop. He stopped struggling as though she were sucking the very life force out of him and collapsed heavily onto his back. "Arse?"

"No," came the emphatic reply.

"No: you haven't been taken in the arse yourself, or no: you've never played that game with anyone else?"

"No," repeated Rasaad. Suddenly feeling a bit braver he added forcefully; "And as a great hero once put it… ah… '_Bugger that for a lark!'_"

"By hand male?"

"Well, yes," Rasaad admitted. "Even monks are not wholly immune to the temptation to-"

"I meant somebody else's?"

Rasaad's intense brow knotted in confusion and the desire to steer away from this topic and back to the activity at hand. What would be the point of doing it by hand with a partner in his bed? He shook his head mutely, anxious to move on. Viconia wrapped her fingers about him.

"Why…? Oh gods, I see… that's why…" he moaned.

Viconia straddled him, an incredible view as she lowered herself onto him, taking him inside her fully. Her hands pressed against his chest. White hot pleasure tore through him as she rode him. His body roared for more, and he rolled them both over.

At first he thrust gently, he was aware of his size and did not want to hurt her. Yet her beauty and whispers of encouragement made it hard to show restraint and gradually he increased his pace and depth, watching all the time for any sign of discomfort.

She let out a lustful little cry, and smiled up at him encouragingly, wrapping her long legs about his hips once more. This was what she wanted from him, a full demonstration of both his strength and his love, so that she might feel safe. Even if it was only an illusion. Her deluded heart believed that he would save her from Lolth, even if her mind did not.

Rasaad found his rhythm, rocking steadily harder, and finding that with Viconia he could slide his entire length into her hard without causing her pain. She felt tight about him, arching her back and stroking his arms, clearly enjoying their power. It was impossible for anyone to put as much effort into maintaining his physical strength as the monk did, and not take some pride in it. To watch her so obviously appreciating his body was intensely satisfying.

Before long he found that he had lost all self-control. Viconia, _his _Viconia was in his arms making love. Happiness flooded him. The two of them were meant to be together, and he could not believe that it had taken him so long to realise it.

"I love you Viconia," he panted. "For so long I have longed to touch you and held back. I cannot… _ahh! _I cannot believe that I am finally able to do this."

"I have had lovers beyond count," she replied, "But none such as you. You are a male without equal. I… I love you too Rasaad."

"Viconia…" he breathed, kissing her neck and hair, "Viconia… my love."

Moments later she felt his body shiver and jerk as he spilled inside her. He withdrew and collapsed panting onto his back, too spent to contemplate getting up. She sighed contentedly and nuzzled against him, and his arm wrapped sleepily around her. With an agony of effort he pulled the blanket over them and they were both asleep in seconds.

* * *

* * *

_~_

_Fire. It swept through Urst Natha, burning the eyes of the onlookers so fiercely that it was a wonder the city did not explode over the surface above like a volcano. _

_The air reeked of melting fat from the bodies at their feet. Screaming still resounded through the cavern, but it was growing fainter and now it was intermingled with sobbing. Those few survivors had ceased fearing for their own immediate survival and were registering the scale of destruction._

_"There. It is done."_

_Arowan had never seen the speaker before this moment, but as soon as she set eyes upon her, she guessed that she was looking at the elf queen. She was the only woman, according to those few like Coran who had seen them both, whose beauty and charisma rivalled the Hero of Baldur's Gate._

_Her army of surface elves were returning to her from all over the ruined city, like bees swarming about their queen. She looked about her, trembling, with a horrified expression, though she was nowhere near so aghast as Anomen. The squire was lying in the ashes, sobbing uncontrollably. Dorn prodded him with his boot, a disgusted expression on his face._

_"It's my fault…" Anomen was whimpering. "I did this."_

_"Do not presume to take credit!" growled Dorn. "All you did was whinge and cry!"_

_"I wonder… was this truly necessary?" asked the elf queen tremulously. _

_"It's a little late to be worrying about that now," grinned Dorn._

_"They tell me that you killed some of my own warriors," she said. The queen had a wavering, indecisive manner about her. Not what one would expect from one of the most powerful beings in Toril, but then Arowan knew little of elfin culture. She addressed Dorn, though every so often her eyes flickered toward a grey-hooded figure lurking in his shadow. "How dare you!" _

_"We agreed that those who passed the Detect Evil test would be spared," Dorn growled threateningly. "And that those who failed would perish."_

_"I… I never agreed to the murder of my own people!" Ellesime protested. The grey-hooded figure mumbled a few words that Arowan could not quite catch. Whatever was said, it distressed the elf-queen greatly. Her eyes darted around like trapped flies, landing finally at her feet and welling with guilty tears. "No… I do not want another Jonaleth. Perhaps you are right… my judgement is not what I believed it to be."_

_She gazed mutely at the carnage her forces had delivered on their ancient enemy. Some of her soldiers seemed to share her dismay. Most did not. The elf queen raised her dainty hands to address her troops._

_"The war is over at long last," she cried. "The drow of Urst Natha shall trouble us no more. Let us return home. You… I… you are welcome to join us of course," she added to Dorn, though she didn't sound as though she meant it._

_Dorn looked to the hooded figure who shook their head once. Arowan felt a profound sense of unease whenever she looked at them. This, surely, must be Ur-Gothoz himself. The elves sounded a silver horn and began to march away. The half-orc watched them go, his black eyes narrowed, leaving him and his master alone in the ashes with Anomen weeping piteously at their feet._

"_Well?" Dorn demanded angrily, turning on his master. "Now what?"_

~

Arowan awoke screaming hysterically at the side of her tent. Bright light was scorching her tired eyes, but it was only the sunlight of dawn. Her cries brought Jaheira running, but she was far enough from Rasaad and Viconia not to wake them. Which was rather a pity, for in another part of the forest, the drow was having a nightmare of her own.

~

_The bones of Amauna. Stacked up where they had left them in her tomb. They were as neat as the party could make them, but they'd had limited time. The ribs, skull and spine were in broadly the right places. Everything else had just been piled into a vaguely person-shaped heap._

"_Servant of all Faiths… I have found you at last amongst the many voices… Listen carefully for who knows how long it may take me to locate you again. The time has almost come."_

"_What do you want with me, ghost?" demanded Viconia, but she was scared. It was cold down here in the tomb._

"_Trust is for the foolish… and the dead… Trust at your peril, Servant of all Faiths, for you trust in error…"_

~

Rasaad rolled over in his sleep, pulling off the blanket which was really only big enough for one person. Viconia's eyes snapped open. She was naked and freezing. A morning dew had settled over her but the memory of the tomb chilled her more.

Amauna's warning rang in her memory. She felt sure that the prophetess would have had more to say if the monk had not woken her so abruptly. Trust is for the foolish… she had trusted him. Shown weakness. To a _Selunite _of all people, the mortal enemies of her own goddess.

She pulled on her clothes hastily, buckling her boots with numb fingers while the monk snoozed on. He looked so relaxed, contented and happy. What right did he have to be so when she was surrounded on all sides by Lolth's webs?

The last surfacer she had allowed herself to have feelings for had left her immediately after sleeping with her. Humiliation burned in her cheeks at the memory. She would not grant Rasaad the opportunity to do the same. Had she thought he looked contented? Try smug! Well she would soon wipe the smile from his gormless face!

Trust is for the foolish… and the dead…

"Not me," she whispered, narrowing her red eyes at Rasaad. "I intend to survive."

Quietly she slipped away, meaning to sneak back into her tent, but when she returned to the camp the others were already up. Jaheira raised an eyebrow at her, but Arowan barely acknowledged her presence. She was sitting in front of her tent, her breakfast bowl untouched in bone-white hands. Her eyes were glazed over and she stared at nothing.

"Pathetic riviil! Lamenting a male so!" Viconia spat, though really she was reprimanding herself more than Arowan. "Get a grip."

The ranger looked up at her, and as their eyes met the drow took a step backward. There was no anger in her expression, just a dead, glassy stare which she found unnerving. It was as though the other woman was dying from the inside out. This was what love did. It was a sickness, a plague of the heart, and Viconia was determined not to fall victim to it herself.

By the time Rasaad woke up alone and ambled back to the camp, the drow had talked herself into venomous hostility. She said nothing to him, ignoring his hurt, puzzled expression. The party gathered their belongings and resumed their long walk to Athkatla.

"Good morning," he began tentatively, falling into step beside her. He gave her a shy smile, which Viconia did not return.

"Well, I see that you are finally awake," she sneered. "I hope that your pathetic exertions last night brought at least one of us some measure of pleasure."

"Pathetic is it?" Rasaad replied, his smile vanishing. "Already you run cold again. I wish I could say that I am surprised."

She bristled with fury. It had not escaped her attention that he no longer took her insults and threats entirely seriously, but she would not allow him to dismiss this.

"I am merely disappointed," Viconia sniffed. "You pale in comparison to a drow male. My skin simply crawls at the thought that I allowed your rough hands to touch me and your tongue to slime across my body like a copulating slug!"

"Well you seemed to enjoy yourself well enough last night!" Rasaad snapped, getting angry.

"Artifice fool!" Viconia cried, so loudly that the rest of the party could no longer pretend they couldn't hear them. "An effort to push you more quickly that you might pull your putrid and sweaty form away from my presence. The very sight of you disgusts me!"

"Well that was… graphic," Arowan sighed glibly. The couple had been trailing behind the rest of the party, she was up front with Jaheira and Sarevok. If even the Treehuggers were unable to feign deafness, there was no point the rest of them pretending.

Dorn was watching them and trying to supress his amusement. The more allies the Servant of all Faiths could alienate the better as far as he was concerned. Anomen was surveying his brother in arms with open sympathy, but Sarevok had a soul to retrieve.

"If you cannot walk and whimper at the same time then I will leave you behind," he said darkly.

Rasaad retorted that this would be no bad thing, but Viconia quickened her pace and draped herself over their latest addition pointedly.

"So tell me, demi-god, how did you find Phaere?" she purred. "Did the dark ministrations of the drow spur you to passion such as you have never known before? It certainly sounded as though you pleased her. I promise you that you would find her an amateur compared to Viconia DeVir."

"It was an experience notable only for its mediocrity," replied Sarevok. "I have had better."

Viconia continued to stroke him, provoking his blood to quicken, but not by very much. The Bhaalspawn was missing his divine essence and he could feel the loss sapping his strength with each passing hour. Any delay was an irritant. The drow caught Arowan's dead-eyed glance at them and smirked.

"Does this bother you ranger?" she purred. "Now that you have lost another male did you mean to claim this one for yourself?"

"Sarevok is my brother," Arowan reminded her in flat disgust. "Although I do recall you once making a similarly warped suggestion regarding Khalid. Having spent some time amongst your people, I am not convinced that your prurience is an ingrained characteristic of drow. There is just something deeply wrong with _you._"

Viconia ignored her and turned her attention back to Sarevok.

"I miss the customs of my homeland," she smiled silkily. "Like the breaking in of new pleasure slaves. The largest and strongest were the hardest to break, but they were the most rewarding. Sarevok, I find your great size intriguing."

Every so often her eyes flickered to Rasaad, hoping for a reaction, but he was glaring determinedly at the sky. Only the balling and unballing of his fist gave away the extent of his irritation.

"Were you to break me Viconia, you might find nothing but the chill emptiness of the grave within."

"I had no idea you had such a way with words, brother," Arowan sighed. "Perhaps you and Anomen should start a poetry club."

"I would sooner club him!" Anomen snapped.

"The 'cold emptiness of the grave' does not repulse me as you might imagine," Viconia simpered. "We drow are ever eager to broaden our experiences."

"Are you implying that you want to try _necrophilia?_" Jaheira recoiled.

"Incest, necrophilia," the Helmite ticked the list off his fingers. "Tell me, do the drow collect perversions like I collected miniature coats of arms as a child? And can one trade them? I'll swap a bit of voyeurism for your bestiality, that sort of thing?"

"You revolting surfacers are all twisting my words," Viconia replied through gritted teeth.

"I orchestrated a war to slaughter thousands," Sarevok told her. "I have felt the cold embrace of death. I have witnessed the horror of the Abyss, had my offal ripped out for the daily entertainment of my greatest enemy, and escaped only to have my soul torn out instead. But you Viconia, you scare me."

"Cowards everywhere I turn!" Viconia howled, spitting in his face. "If you find your courage Sarevok, seek me out!"

She stormed ahead of the others up the path, her silver hair fanning out behind her. Rasaad was seething. He did not believe that she truly meant her vile words, but they hurt him just the same.


	55. The Vampire and the Slayer

The party stopped briefly at Trademeet on their way North. After everything that had happened to them it seemed strange that the town was much the same as they had always known it. Commerce had resumed with a vengeance and the stalls were bulging with exotic vegetables, silk cloth and sacks of spices. Colour and life were everywhere and for Sarevok it was a chance to breathe in the scents and revel in being alive again.

Passers-by recognized some of them from the fountain statues but Coran and Safana were long gone. Discretely, Jaheira tried to steer Arowan clear of the main square. Running into a life size stone replica of her husband might not be good for her right now.

Rasaad and Viconia dodged a particularly enthusiastic mango merchant, who was in danger of squelching the fruit in their faces, and went to visit Freya's grave. Seeing the completed statue was a shock. For all her quirks, Margoff was a talented craftsman and the likeness was eerie. The Hero of Baldur's Gate grinned down at them as cocky and brazen as she had been in life, her face framed by a lion's mane of hair. They'd even depicted her standing over a dead dragon.

"The real one was bigger," noted Rasaad.

"And it was not so pretty either once she was through with it," added Viconia. "But I suppose we must allow for artistic license."

Back in the town, Arowan locked herself in her room while Jaheira went for supplies. This was on the pretext of being too grieved to go out. It was true that she'd had no appetite for days and was starting to look rather ill and drawn, so Jaheira left Anomen to keep an eye on her.

"Anomen, I need your help with something," Arowan said, emerging from her room at last. "And I need you not to tell Mum until after it is done."

The Helmite followed her upstairs curiously, and was even more intrigued when he entered her room and found the floor strewn with balled-up pieces of paper. The ranger's own hands were covered in ink and she was looking frustrated.

"Who are you writing to?" he asked. "I thought you didn't know how?"

"I don't. Not properly," she replied through gritted teeth. It was not her favourite topic of conversation. "That's why I need your help."

Anomen picked up one of the discarded letters and uncrumpled it.

"Lorde Furcrag?" he read. She had terrible handwriting. Her letters were unjoined and crudely formed, as though she were trying to draw the symbols from scratch instead of really knowing them properly.

"I'm writing to Firkraag," she said flatly. Anomen looked aghast.

"_Why?_"

"Because we have a bargain to trade information," she replied. "I have some for him. He will be interested to know that Adalon has abandoned her guard of the entrance to the Underdark and flown off to raise her brood, I'm sure. In exchange I need something from him."

"And what is that?" asked Anomen disapprovingly.

"The location of Bodhi's lair," she replied wearily. "We know it's in Athkatla, and if I were a gambler I'd put my money on the Graveyard District, but the city is large and we don't have time to search it. I think Firkraag will know."

"And you want me to write this letter for you?" he asked.

"Look, the letter is going to be sent with or without your assistance. I can communicate it with childish handwriting and pictures if you force me to," snapped Arowan. "But I'd prefer it if you would put aside your honour for once and oblige me on this. Especially since the letter must also inform him that Sarevok is alive once more and Yoshimo is dead."

Anomen swallowed and nodded. He pulled up a little stool and sat down quietly at the desk. Arowan brought over some fresh paper and an inkwell and began to dictate. As he wrote, she gathered up the little scraps of paper and tossed them one by one into the fire where they shrivelled instantly into ashes. The sight of their charred remains reminded her of the buildings of Urst Natha.

She sighed and looked away. It seemed unlikely that anything could stop Ur-Gothoz's plan now, and in her heart, she had lost the will to try.

* * *

* * *

Next day the walls of Athkatla loomed on the horizon. Arowan's mind turned to Yoshimo's heart in her pack. It was a gruesome relic, but it was also all she had left of him apart from her wedding ring and part of her was reluctant to give it up. At least whatever wrapping Adalon had placed around it seemed to have prevented rotting.

"For the Glory of Amn!" hollered a guard proudly as they passed through the city gates.

She was tempted to ask _what _exactly was for the glory of Amn? Roasting alive in sweaty armour and bellowing at merchants all day? For once, however, she held her tongue, so as not to provoke the man into searching her baggage. A human heart in a backpack could only lead to awkward questions. Instead the guards chose Viconia for their 'random' spot check. Oddly enough, they always did.

A messenger found Arowan while they were searching. He was carrying a scroll of thick cream parchment, sealed with ornate red and gold wax. She handed it to Anomen without even attempting to read it herself.

"Where do you think Bodhi will be?" Rasaad asked. The ranger rolled her eyes that he was only thinking to ask this now. By Ilmater, how could she ever have looked up to such a stupid man? "Should we search Irenicus's compound?"

Anomen looked hesitantly at Arowan, who shrugged.

"You can tell them now," she told him. "Sorry Mum, I asked Firkraag where it was."

"Without informing me first?" Jaheira thundered. "I am still the party leader here young lady!"

"I was afraid you might have stopped me from sending the letter," Arowan replied truthfully.

"Clever little sister!" Sarevok exclaimed patronizingly. "Where is it?"

"Graveyard District," said Anomen. "Several tomb entrances lead to it, he has drawn us a map, and written to contacts in the Shadow Thieves… ugh, Arowan this gets worse and worse… who will send a wizard to break the seals and let us in. Tonight at midnight. Firkraag says er… he says he expects the midnight hour to appeal to Sarevok's sense of melodrama."

It was intended as an insult, but the one-time Duke of Baldur's Gate was too pleased to let it phase him. He had never met Firkraag and did not care a jolt for his opinion. Sarevok's eyes glowed eagerly and Dorn seemed scarcely less keen for the fight. Arowan, however, had only one thing on her mind.

"Can you two come with me to the Chapel of Ilmater?" she asked Jaheira and Anomen. "I… I don't want to have to explain."

The last time the three of them had visited this temple it had been her wedding day. She sat in a grubby pew a few rows back while they explained the situation to the Painbearer. Every so often she glanced at Arowan with pitying eyes.

The ranger sat mutely, clutching the heart, ignoring a sleeping urchin who burrowed his feet beneath her buttocks for a brief bit of warmth.

'_We got married here. We got married and now he's dead.'_

Of course they had known at the time that death of one or both of them was a distinct possibility, but that didn't make it any easier. The Painbearer was coming over now. She couldn't bring herself to speak, but handed over Yoshimo's heart. Tears ran coldly down her face.

"Very well," said the Painbearer kindly. "We shall take his heart unto the breast of Ilmater. The crying god will determine what torment is merited or not. If his suffering is undeserved, your Yoshimo will see relief in his eternal rest."

Arowan pressed her lips together to keep from bawling and nodded her thanks. The Painbearer carried the heart into the rear of the Temple. After a time there came the sound of chanting and the scent of extremely cheap incense. Then the woman returned looking solemn.

She moved between the beggars, tending them, and trying to avoid Arowan's eyes.

"Well?" cried the ranger, springing up when she could bear it no longer.

"It sometimes happens that our Lord does not answer," the Painbearer told her quietly. "Sometimes he gives the bereaved a yay or a nay, but not always. On this occasion the altar was silent."

Arowan froze.

"What does that mean?" she asked quietly.

"It means that we do not know his fate, dear one."

"No."

It wasn't a wail of disbelief, nor of pleading, but a decisive refusal of the deal the gods had offered her. After everything she had sacrificed, everything she had endured for Ilmater, he could not even give her the courtesy of an answer?

"I am sorry, my dear," the Painbearer told her sympathetically. "Sometimes this is just the way it has to be. Our lord works in mysterious ways."

"_Your _Lord."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your Lord," Arowan repeated, her voice cold and dangerous. "I don't accept this."

"It is the judgement of your god, child. You don't have a choice," Jaheira implored gently.

"Don't I?"

Arowan unclasped her symbol of Ilmater and dropped it to the ground. It seemed to take an unnaturally long time to fall and everyone's eyes were on it but her. The engraved chunk of valueless metal depicting two bound hands fell to the stones with a sad little clink.

Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out Eric's ring. The one he had given to Bubbles, into which he had poured all his knowledge of necromancy and magic. It was an unattractive object. Two grey stones flecked with green; the colour of her dead brother's eyes. Glaring at the altar of Ilmater with hateful defiance, Arowan put it on.

It was like waking up from a dream. She did not need to process the new knowledge or think about it, it was just there. Trance-like, she lifted her hand with the ring on it and flexed her fingers. Suddenly she understood how tendons worked, that countless creatures too tiny to see were living on her skin and that at this moment people in other planes were walking through that exact same spot.

She knew the wrapping that Adalon had placed around Yoshimo's heart to prevent it from decaying and half a dozen spells which would achieve the same thing. She knew the content of hundreds of books and remembered what it was like to read with ease, though when she looked up at the inscription above the altar the words still jumped around and refused to sit in a straight line.

Eric, it seemed, had learnt the recipe for Numbing Potions too before escaping the Black Pits, though as with lichdom a lack of ingredients and privacy had prevented his ever using it.

Never, until now, had she fully appreciated just how intelligent her brother had been. True, she had rarely seen necromancers control more than six undead at a time the way Eric once summoned hundreds of rats. Yet it was only now that she understood just how difficult it had been to bypass this limitation.

Now the power was hers, along with his knowledge of resurrection… but here a crushing reality struck her.

Eric's sole motivation for becoming a necromancer in the first place had been his terror of dying and being condemned to eternal torture in the Abyss. He had been determined either to achieve immortality through lichdom or, failing that, be brought back.

For this reason, his research into resurrection had been _very specifically _focussed on bringing back a Bhaalspawn from the Abyss. Not bringing back a mortal from hell. She didn't even know which hell Yoshimo was in and now she realised that it mattered.

The fact was that even Eric did not know how to bring Yoshimo back.

Bhaal's darkness stirred inside her again. Hate and fury welled up in her like magma straining against the surface. Suddenly, people were screaming. Spines were bursting from her back and hands. Her teeth were lengthening, her mind receding and the savage essence of murder started to take over.

Someone was standing in front of her. The image was blurred through the Slayer's rudimentary eyes. She raised her clawed hand, but the figure did not retreat away, and in what remained of her mind she knew that she did not want to hurt this one.

"Arowan! Arowan you need to come back now!" Jaheira's commanding voice sliced through the fog of rage and pain. "Pull yourself together child. You will cease this immediately!"

All at once she found herself panting, on her knees and hands on the floor, drenched in sweat. The temple was almost deserted. The Painbearer and all of the beggars had fled in panic, apart from foot-boy, who'd slept through the whole thing. Jaheira was standing in front of her, arms outstretched looking relieved. Anomen was still there too, although he had backed into the wall and was watching her with an expression of horrified disbelief.

"Did the ring do that?" he cried. "What in Helm's name were you thinking, putting on a ring that Dorn Il-Khan handed to you?"

"He gave me the Charisma Ring, and you put that on too," Arowan reminded him shakily. "No… it wasn't the ring. It was realising that my last resort wasn't… wasn't going to work. There's no way to bring back Yoshimo."

Jaheira put her arms around her adopted daughter and held her tightly. For the first time since he had died, Arowan allowed herself to properly cry. While Jaheira was here, the Slayer would not come back.

At length they left the temple. On the way out Anomen scooped up the symbol of Ilmater and tried to hand it to her.

"I do not believe that you truly wish to abandon your god," he told her.

"My god abandoned me," she replied sadly, but the Helmite pocketed it when she wasn't looking.

When they returned to the Copper Coronet, they found Sarevok in full swing preparing for battle. He and Dorn were sharpening their swords enthusiastically, both warriors full of eager anticipation. The Blackguard was finding this Bhaalspawn far more to his liking than the first two he had met. Freya had been strong and bloodthirsty enough, but with her oversensitive werewolf nose she'd rarely opened her mouth in his presence except to bemoan his stench. The two men were bonding over their shared dislike of the Bitch of Baldur's Gate as much as the coming battle.

Viconia and Rasaad were upstairs, and the others assumed that they were having sex, though in truth the pair were not yet back on speaking terms. She was resting to ensure that all her spells were at full capacity for the coming fight. He was meditating, because that's what monks do, though he could not focus. His mind kept turning back longingly to her.

* * *

* * *

At last the hour approached and they came to the Graveyard District. The wizard from the Shadow Thieves as well as a pair of mean-looking assassins were waiting for them as Firkraag had arranged. Arowan wondered why the winged lizard was being so actively helpful, but this question was soon answered when the mage bowed to Viconia and told her in an oily voice what an honour it was to aid the Servant of all Faiths.

Bodhi, however, must have been tipped off that they were coming or perhaps it was an unlucky coincidence that saw her wandering the graveyard. Her voice, sing-songy and cruel echoed off the gravestones like a ping-pong ball, but they could not see her in the shadows and she seemed to be constantly moving.

"How like your sister you are, Sarevok," she spat from somewhere in the darkness. "She too was an impressive pest. One that was difficult to ignore."

"_Is _she?" Sarevok raised a sceptical eyebrow in the direction of Arowan.

"I meant the other sister, the canine one," Bodhi corrected. Then she chuckled softly. "This one has been far from a pest. Though since you are here, Sarevok, I must assume that Yoshimo will no longer be joining us. So alas, I fear Arowan's useful cooperation with my agenda has come to an end."

"Go to hell," Arowan replied, her face like concrete.

"Your foolish husband is already there and you seem champing at the bit to join him," the vampire replied. A wind blew through the cemetery, rustling the pitch-black leaves of the trees, silhouetted against the night sky. Dorn's ever-watchful eyes thought he could see other shapes moving up there too and he stepped closer to Arowan, sword drawn. Bodhi's voice floated down from the roof of one of the higher tombs. He was fairly sure she was slinking above them. "Irenicus and I do not respond well to disloyalty in our servants Arowan, you ought to know that."

"I have nothing to lose," the ranger replied bleakly.

"No… you don't care if you live or die," Bodhi mused. "I can see that. Then again, I wouldn't agree that you have _nothing _to lose."

Suddenly there was a metallic sound of a dozen swords being drawn at once, and out from the shadows emerged an Order that Anomen had no desire to join. Some were full knights, others mere squires, but all of them had been in their twenties or early thirties when Bodhi had bitten them. Some of them were above averagely good looking but he knew that he was about to become the jewel in her collection as they all advanced on him.

He called a False Dawn, bringing down for a few seconds an artificial daylight upon the graveyard. The knights recoiled into the shadows of the trees, some of them holding their shields against the glare. Anomen recognized many of their faces and the family crests of the noble houses they belonged to. Under Bodhi's influence they had been modifying them. The more tasteful new heraldry had been redrawn as skeletal lions and wilted plants. At the low end of the spectrum, the shield unicorns were screwing each other and vast phalluses had been added to the dragons.

Two of the newest and weakest fledglings burst into smoke there and then. Just before a boy erupted into flame, Anomen recognized one of them as Squire Melvin. The commoner lad had irritated him by coming from no noble family, knowing nothing of chivalric tradition and not speaking as a knight ought. Yet Sir Ryan had taken a shine to the lad after buying haddock from his stall, and he'd been brought into the Order just like that. Sometimes Anomen had thought of Melvin becoming a knight where he had failed and the thought made him burn with humiliation. Now it seemed that Melvin would never be knighted either. The knowledge gave him no pleasure.

Anomen's burst of light also briefly illuminated Bodhi. She screeched and held her hands to her face, though as Dorn had suspected she was high up out of reach. The vampire was dazzling in the light though, for she was draped in a coat so beautiful that at first they mistook it for liquid gold.

It was not gold, however, but fur. Soft, glossy, unmistakable. A coat that had never been seen on any animal but one.

"Is that… is that _Freya?_" Viconia hissed. Her scarlet eyes blazed, and forgetting the danger she streaked in Bodhi's direction, turning undead as she went. Her spell kept the fledglings from her but it was not powerful enough to work on their leader, especially now that Anomen's light was fading. Bodhi retreated back into the shadows as Viconia, closely followed by Rasaad, ran up crumbling steps leading to the tomb roof.

When they got there, she was nowhere in sight.

"You sick monster!" Rasaad thundered. "You dug her up!"

Bodhi's tinkling laugh rang out through the darkness.

"Not at all. The puppy dog was never buried," she taunted them. "Arowan and dearly departed Yoshimo rescued the fur from Trademeet and brought it back to me. All by themselves too, I didn't even have to ask them for it."

"Why?" cried Rasaad.

"Maybe she thought I deserved a treat?" suggested Bodhi. "Oh dear. My noble knights are not doing very well down there are they?"

From a dozen they were now down to five. Dorn and Sarevok were having a grand time. They might have taken all of them out already but both men had been starved of violence for some time and were taking the opportunity to indulge in their fanciest moves.

"Come out and face us coward!" Rasaad bellowed.

"You?" Bodhi giggled. She emerged from between the branches of a nearby tree, fluttering a soiled fan coquettishly. It was a shame that she had only picked up Draxle's superficial qualities and not her kindness. "Come now Rasaad, you don't imagine that Arowan still cares about you?"

"She's not in love with any of those three males on the ground either, you've been misinformed!" Viconia declared. "Believe me, I am her enemy, nobody knows her heart better than I!"

Rasaad recalled the strange drow ballad they'd sung in Urst Natha and pulled a face. For all her protests to the contrary, he was starting to suspect that (on Viconia's side at least) there were some serious anti-romantic feelings. Given the intimate importance that drow attached to such relationships, he was not sure how he felt about this.

"There are different types of love," Bodhi reminded them wistfully.

Then the monk understood what she meant to do but it was too late. Bodhi jumped out of the tree landing not beside Anomen but Jaheira.

The druid had been supporting the frontline fighters with healing and vines from the rear. She was unprepared for Bodhi's attack and there was nobody to prevent it except Arowan, whose shot was not fast enough.

Fangs plunged into Jaheira's throat. The druid froze. With a yell of fury, Anomen tried to battle his way back to her but more vampires were emerging from every direction. The twelve undead knights she had set on them were nothing but a decoy, and soon Bodhi was vanishing into the throng, pulling the druid with her. The last Arowan saw of Jaheira was her mouth parting in agony as new fangs sprouted from her gums, forcing out her original teeth.

The Shadow Thief assassins, who had hidden in shadows the moment the fighting started, reappeared now and tried to backstab Bodhi. Their daggers plunged into the vampire's back, but they were blocked by Freya's thick hide. There was still time, however, and thinking fast the first thief lifted the coat up so that the second could stab beneath it. Before their target turned to dust she managed to gasp out an instruction to her newest fledgling.

"Take the coat to Duke Silvershield. He promised it to Skye as a funeral shroud if Freya failed to save her. See that he sticks to his word!"

Compelled to obey, Jaheira snatched the coat. As Bodhi turned to dust, she yanked the gruesome artefact away from the thieves. In her new state she found that she had lost her druidic powers but gained strength and speed. This time the thieves did not have the benefit of surprise and she was easily able to outrun them, streaking past the fighters and into the night. The precious golden coat, Bodhi's phylactery, was clutched safely in her arms.

Meanwhile the vampires were in trouble. Arowan was testing out the powers of Eric's ring for the first time and the ground itself was rising against them. It was incredible, she had come to understand, how many dead things there were just lying around. Even insects, if one was not constrained by numbers, could suffocate an enemy by crawling up their nose. Here she had an entire graveyard to play with.

Dorn roared with triumphant laughter as the ground burst open. Skeletons and zombies were punching and scratching their way out of the earth and pulverizing their assailants. Yet as the last undead knight turned to dust, Arowan ran away after Jaheira.

"Forget about her!" the Shadow Thief wizard rasped. "Bodhi must be staked and her artefact retrieved now. We may not get this opportunity again. Onward!"

Anomen was torn, but he could not bear the thought that he might have to be the one to stake Jaheira. He turned and followed Sarevok (for whom it was a complete non-decision) and the rest of the party. Only Dorn broke away to follow Arowan through the city, but he did so at a sizeable distance. His patron had known Bhaal for a very long time and was warning him of what would come next.

As a vampire, Jaheira was faster even than Arowan and she soon lost her pursuer amongst the slums. Within minutes the chase was over and the ranger found herself with no idea which way to run.

Jaheira was bitten, gone, lost. Her body might still be animate but her soul was taken forever. She was worse than dead. Khalid was dead. Yoshimo was dead. Even her faith was dead.

She flattened herself against the cold damp cobblestones and screamed, willing herself to merge back into the ground and return to nature. Not to die, but to cease to exist. The pain was shredding her mind…

…and through the gaps the Slayer crept.

"Excuse me, can I help you Miss?" asked a stout middle-aged man with a kind, ruddy face. He approached the stricken stranger, brow creased in concern, making the sign of Ilmater while his children watched from a doorway. The woman's face was hidden beneath wavy dark hair and he hesitated to come closer, fearing that she may have died from plague. Yet Ilmater commanded compassion to all, so come closer he did. "Miss?"

He pushed back her hair and screamed.

It was no human face but a hellish monstrosity, all gaping mouth and tentacles. Its small, dull eyes blinked a couple of times, then with terrifying speed it leapt to its feet, transforming the rest of the way. Hair became spikes, hands morphed into six-clawed talons with a hideous ripping sound. The creature roared sulphur at him, and it's burning spittle was the last thing he felt before its teeth.

More people had come out to see what all the fuss was about, which was a mistake. The man's wife heard their son and daughter screaming and came running to the door. She looked about for her husband but only the lower half remained lying forlornly in the street. The monster flailed around above it searching for more victims to satisfy its instinctive wrath.

She tried to pull her children inside, but it was already too late. The Slayer's claws slashed through the door like it was made of cardboard, and seconds later the rest of the family joined their father in the afterlife.

Yet the beast was not done. An eerie silence descended on the street as the peasants barricaded themselves indoors and held their breath, trying not to attract the beast's attention. Dorn watched, half hidden behind a dung cart at the end of the alley. It was hardly of fight he gloried in. None of the miserable commoners could put up any sort of resistance, though a few tried with knives, shovels or whatever they had to hand.

A guard from the city watch heard the commotion and came running in his clanking armour. He tried to attack the creature but a little armour and a real sword did not save him. The Slayer opened his armour with its huge claws like a bear cracking a nut. Nobody tried to do anything but run after that.

Carnage raged on for ten minutes or so, but by the end of it the gutters were running red with blood. Arowan was back and staring at the corpses surrounding her in complete shellshock. She made no move to run or defend herself as the commoners emerged to count their dead. One of the first victim's surviving neighbours pointed at the stranger, screaming that she had done it and they advanced on her with knives and the dead guard's sword. The ranger did nothing but shake convulsively.

The time had come for Dorn to step in. After what had just happened, the mere sight of the half-orc blackguard approaching was enough to send the commoners scurrying back into their houses. The sound of furniture being shoved against the doors reverberated around the alley. Dorn picked up Arowan, slung her over his shoulder and carried her away. Not to the Copper Coronet but to the Crooked Crane.

He deposited her in the barn where he had slept for so long and watched her intently, his hand clenched around Rancor. There was not a drop of colour in her face. She kept shuddering and making little moaning noises, unable to move or speak.

_Check! Check!_

Dorn Il-Khan glared irritably at Rancor and grunted to Arowan in a low voice.

"What are you thinking?"

She gave no reply, nor was she capable of doing so, for she was not exactly thinking in words. Her mind was so broken that she had entered an animal-like state where all she could do was feel, and what she felt was horror. She stared straight ahead like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

"What do you intend to do now?" Dorn tried again. He shook his head. The ends of his long black hair twitched over his shoulders. "It's no use," he addressed his sword. "She's out of it."

_Let me talk to her! Let me try!_

Dorn shrugged and manoeuvred Arowan's unresisting hand so that her palm lay open on the floor. He placed the hilt of Rancor into it and his master spoke with her through the blade, using all the will of a Demon Lord to force an answer.

_What have you done? You have butchered defenceless innocents, good, kind people! Even little children. You are a monster, a murderous evil which cannot be contained! The evil must be stopped!_

"Yes…" Arowan agreed hazily.

_You have seen what you are now! You have seen what Bhaal is. Bhaal must be destroyed!_

"Yes it must… he must… I must be…"

The ranger lost consciousness and dropped the sword. Dorn picked it up slowly, and a smile spread over his grim face. It was time then. There was only one thing left to do. Go to Bodhi's lair and retrieve that idiot Helmite, before he got himself killed and ruined everything.


	56. Good Intentions

Cold light illuminated the crypt from torches lining the walls. Between them were mismatched knightly paraphernalia which the crazed vampire had scavenged or stolen. Tapestries, coats of arms and ornate suits of armour (some with the decaying remains of their owners still inside) revealed the effect of Bodhi's piece of stolen soul.

Eerie lute music drifted up from the lower catacombs, accompanied by jingling bells.

At the first stench of blood pits, their friend from the Shadow Thieves had lost his nerve and was lurking outside flanked by his cronies. At least he took the trouble to hand them some stakes first. Yet the assassins' job was already done. With their leader dusted the remaining vampires put up little resistance as the party descended into Bodhi's disturbing 'court.'

Some of her brood predated her fixation with knights and were crammed sulkily into suits of armour they would sooner do without. Others had been chosen not for their martial skill but for their resemblance to Ajantis. Golden haired and strong but with just the threat of a double chin.

One of these vampires pounced on Dorn's shoulders as he made his way into the compound and tried to sink its fangs into his thick neck. The half-orc responded by seizing him, ripping him loose with no more difficulty than a horse dislodging a tick and bit the vampire instead. The creature howled in pain, flailing uselessly as his attacker savoured an interesting new flavour of blood.

Anomen was not taking the loss of Jaheira well and was in a near frenzy of rage; pulverizing the undead with his mace or turning them using his spells so that they ran onto the end of Sarevok's sword. Two of the bloodsuckers tried to take advantage of his storm of fury to catch him off guard, but Dorn ran one through and snapped the other's spine like a twig. He could not afford to let Anomen die, not yet. The little boy had a big job to do.

Jaheira was dead, turned into a vampire, but Viconia's gloating was soured somewhat by the artefact that she had fled with. Freya's flayed remains were not buried in Trademeet as they'd believed and never had been. That little cockroach Arowan had let them stand there and mourn over a false grave!

"The ranger is lucky she has those necromantic powers now!" she spat with fury, as Rasaad pinned a vampire still for her to decapitate it. "Or I would slay her myself!"

"We do not know why she did it," Rasaad replied. Even now he was still trying to be fair, but the more time passed the more he disliked his former lover. She had changed beyond recognition since their first meeting in Nashkel years ago.

When they fought their way to Bodhi's coffin, the source of the bells became apparent, for she had even turned a jester and a bard. Her fool danced and juggled to the gentle strumming of a lute until he saw the intruders. Then all he could do was throw his motley hat at them. The bard tried to thwack Sarevok with his instrument, only for the Bhaalspawn to snap it in two and stake him with one of the splinters.

Bodhi's coffin, an ebony box with gold filigree, stood within the deepest alcove like a royal bed of state. Propped up on purple cushions lay the pale-faced vampire. Her eyelids were closed as she regenerated from her wounds, though sometimes they flickered as though she were in deep sleep. Somehow, like this, she seemed a lot smaller. Her choppy black hair flopped limply, and in her hand she clutched the Rhynn Lanthorn which would grant them access to Suldanessellar.

"For Jaheira," Anomen told her grimly, driving a sharpened wooden stick through the vampire's heart.

Bodhi let out a great wail. Her eyes shot wide open and she looked directly at Anomen before her undead body gave out. She crumbled into skeletal remains adorned by nothing but a few clinging strips of flesh. The party caught a faint glimpse of an apparition of some sort, hovering over her corpse. It looked like Bodhi, yet with faint golden specks.

The apparition's face contorted in discomfort as the golden glitter that was the stolen Bhaalspawn essence squirmed free and sank into the Abyss. Yet she lingered, transparent and bodiless.

Bodhi tensed, waiting to see whether her backup plan had worked and Bubbles had successfully turned her into a lich. She wasn't being dragged into hell yet, that was a good sign. Then she felt the tug, deep and irresistible, to return to her phylactery.

Before she disappeared, she smiled sleekly at Anomen.

"I'll remember you," she mouthed.

Then her conscience was pulled almost instantly miles away into the fur coat which harboured her soul. Jaheira had already acquired a horse and was galloping full throttle in the direction of Baldur's Gate.

_Can you hear me?_

"Yes… yes mistress," Jaheira replied.

_You are a vampire now. You must find somewhere to hide before dawn. Do not leave it until the last minute!_

"No mistress," the former-druid assured her. Even as a thrall, Bodhi thought she detected a hint of sarcasm.

No matter. Despite having just died, Bodhi felt more alive than she had in years, for she had escaped not only her enemies but her brother as well. For the first time in centuries she was no longer dependent on him. This new life was hers and everything was under her own control. She was not his to bully and torment anymore.

Skie would make a fine host until Bodhi could find some means of restoring a form of her own. How delighted Duke Silvershield would be when the coat was placed onto his daughter's soulless body, only for her to sit up and give him a cuddle.

_Her flesh will be mine and the city of Baldur's Gate with it!_

* * *

* * *

Anomen stood back from the coffin panting. He removed his helm and wiped sweat and tears from his face.

"It's over," he said.

"Not quite my friend. We must stake the remaining vampires or they are sure to follow us south and cause a nuisance," Rasaad reminded him.

The party dispersed into the complex, rooting out many secret panels, locked trunks and other hidey holes full of slowly regenerating vampires. Soon the crypt rang with their screeches. Anomen lifted the Rhynn Lanthorn from Bodhi's skeletal hands. They powdered at his touch. It was heavy and full of lenses and mirrors. He had expected something more mystical and less mechanical. This artefact struck him as more gnomish than elven.

Dorn came up behind him and murmured in his ear. The Helmite winced at the brush of his greasy hair and hot, rancid breath.

"Leave them to finish the vampires. You need to come with me quickly. We have a problem."

"Do we?" snapped Anomen, rising to his feet. "Do we really? We're exhausted, bloodied, about to face one of the most powerful wizards who ever lived, and two of our party have died in as many weeks!"

"I fear it will be three if you don't get a move on," Dorn warned him.

Anomen turned pale.

"Arowan?"

She and Rasaad were his last living friends in the world, and Jaheira would have wanted him to save her. Without needing to be asked again, he followed Dorn to the Crooked Crane barn where he had left Arowan, but the ranger was nowhere to be seen.

"You know her! Where would she have gone?" cried the Blackguard, whose fear was genuine now.

"It might help if you told me what happened!" Anomen retorted impatiently.

"I am not entirely sure," Dorn replied. "I followed her as she chased Jaheira through the city, but when the vampire escaped Arowan lost control. She transformed into a hideous monster such as even I have never seen. At least ten commoners were butchered in the slums by the time she turned back."

"Helm no!" cried Anomen.

"I thought it safe to leave her here while I fetched a healer," rumbled the half-orc. "She appeared utterly broken and was not moving at all, but she must have recovered sufficiently to get up. Where will she be?"

Anomen's mind was racing in panic. He too knew what it was like to lose everything. Though he had never shared it with the rest of the party, his fall from the Order's grace had involved the slaying of innocents. He had reacted by taking a sword into the wood, and there was no doubt in his mind that the Ilmatari ranger would not be able to accept what she had done.

But where would she go to do it? Perhaps outside of the city in the woods? If so, they would never find her in time.

"We need to go to the Temple District," he told Dorn urgently. "There are clerics there who are experts in scrying. We must run!"

He held out little hope that they would be able to complete the ritual and find Arowan in time to prevent her from doing what he was sure she meant to do. Yet when they reached the Temple of the Morning Lord, Dorn stopped short and pointed a chunky finger at the bridge. Though they did not know this, it was the very spot where Yoshimo had proposed to her.

Arowan was standing on the edge, her long wavy hair blowing around her. She looked as pale as if she had already drowned.

Seemingly, one of the temple guards had already tried to stop her jumping but had been rewarded by being knocked out and having his armour stolen. The ranger was buckled into it now.

Long ago, near Beregost, she had fallen into a river while wearing Khalid's armour. She knew that if she was weighed down by plate mail escape from the water would be impossible. The incident had prompted Rasaad to buy her a magically inflatable belt which she (being a strong swimmer when not anchored by armour) had regifted to Dorn. The half-orc took the belt off in readiness now, and passed it to Anomen. He had a feeling the Helmite would need it.

"Wait here," Anomen told him. He unclipped his armour and handed it over along with his helmet and sword. "I am her closest friend left alive, I have the best chance of talking her down."

He approached cautiously holding the life-belt, almost like a cheetah stalking a gazelle. If he got this wrong, he feared, she was liable to startle and leap.

"Arowan," he said cautiously, once he was close enough to try to catch her. "Please, don't do this."

"I don't have a choice," she answered in a faraway voice. "Not now."

"There is life after this. Please believe me," Anomen begged her. "I've been where you are, yes, even the murders. I came back from it and so can you."

Arowan looked at him in despair and shook her head.

"This is different," she choked. "I can't fight a god. The Slayer, the avatar of Bhaal, escaped from inside me. It will do so again, I am certain of it. I can feel it now trying to get out. Every crack of anger… grief… pain… they are escape routes for it."

She took a deep breath.

"It is an evil that must be destroyed Anomen, surely you can see that?" Arowan looked down at the water and shuddered. She had almost drowned once before, she knew how much it hurt, but she steeled herself to do what had to be done. "Nothing else matters now."

She stepped over the edge, falling as straight as one of her own arrows. The armour dragged her straight under, leaving only a bullseye of ripples to mark her location. Anomen yelled and without hesitation he dived in after her.

Dorn ran to the edge of the bridge, glaring furiously into the water below.

"If that blasted woman dies after all this…!" he howled, tearing at his hair.

_Hold your nerve, curse you! _Ur-Gothoz's voice hissed from the sword. _This may yet work in our favour. Listen to me! When he pulls her out, this is what I need you to say…_

* * *

* * *

The water stung at Anomen's eyes too badly to keep them open and he swam about blindly. Dorn's inflatable belt was bobbing above him, but he had to find Arowan first. Fortunately, the waterways beneath the Temple District were ornamental and not very deep. Groping his way through the water, he found Arowan by the thrashing the drowning ranger was making.

Nobody has the self-discipline to simply allow themselves to drown, which is why she had donned the stolen armour in the first place. Now that the water had started moving into her lungs, she was fighting with the last of her strength to get it off, and succeeded in removing the buckles. This allowed him, with difficulty, to pull it the rest of the way.

Only he was out of air. He swam to the surface, took a huge, blind gulp and dived again. He swam down hard, reached out and his fingers curled in her hair. There wasn't time to worry about pulling it; he grabbed two handfuls like rope and hauled them together. Then he grabbed her under one arm and kicked toward the air. He broke the surface, unable to tell whether or not Arowan's head was also above the water. She had not dusted in his arms which meant that the Bhaalspawn wasn't dead, not yet, but she also wasn't moving.

The water was so cold that his limbs felt like freezing rigid. Flooded lungs coughed up warm liquid, blood or water he couldn't tell. They ached unbearably. He had to get to shore. He heard Dorn yelling from above and forced his stinging eyes open, managing only a blurry second of vision at a time until he caught sight of what he hoped was the floating belt.

Anomen swam them toward it and grabbed on, manhandling Arowan to try to keep her face out of the water. He was uncertain whether or not he was succeeding. More voices were hollering now, though he could not make out the words over the sound of his own coughing and the water in his ears. They grew louder and suddenly he felt hands grasping him. They were tugging Arowan from his hands. He tried to hold on to her, but by this point he was too weak.

Moments later the hands were back and pulling him up, up and out of the water. He found himself on his knees choking and coughing between frantic gulps of air. His body was howling for breath. Someone was thumping him on the back, knocking the lake water from him.

"Vita, mortis, caero!"

Some of the pain began to subside. He flailed around, found a strip of cloth (which turned out to be a knight's riding skirt) and wiped his eyes so that he could see. Arowan was on the ground surrounded by clerics.

"What happened?" demanded one of the knights. He bore the insignia of the Order of the Radiant Heart. Anomen's own heart sank.

"The girl was watching the fish and she slipped and fell," Dorn interjected. "This brave man jumped in to save her."

"Anomen? Anomen Delryn?" one of the knights blinked.

"Yes?" sighed Anomen, too weary to be rude to them.

"Weren't you that kid Sir Ryan kicked out of the Order?"

"Yes," he growled. "What of it?"

"We heard about what you did in Trademeet, and the Umar Hills!" one of the knights told him. He held out a hand and hauled Anomen to his feet. "Some of us don't think it's right what they did to you… Sir."

Anomen felt rather mollified by this, though he could not stop coughing long enough to formulate a suitable reply.

"Will she be alright?" he managed, gesturing to Arowan.

"Yes, but best get her to a tavern quickly before she catches cold," the knight nodded. "Good eve to you, Lord Delryn."

"Aye," Anomen replied in a small voice. "And you also."

* * *

* * *

They carried her back to the Crooked Crane Inn and laid her out on the straw, which promptly stuck to her hair. Dorn and Anomen stared at her silently as her chest rose and fell. Her face was chalk white and she had not eaten properly since Yoshimo's death. This was starting to show in her sunken cheeks.

"What in the hells do we do?"

"Put a blanket on her?" Dorn suggested. Anomen glared at him.

"I meant when she wakes up!" the cleric moaned. "You know she'll only do it again!"

"Most likely," Dorn nodded, scratching his broad chin. "Assuming the angry mob don't find her first. The peasants saw her change back, they know who massacred their friends."

"Damn!" Anomen whispered. "Damn it all to hell!"

"We could tie her up?" suggested Dorn.

"You want to fight Irenicus with a bound prisoner in tow?" Anomen scoffed at the stupid suggestion. "And what about when the Slayer breaks through again, what then? You've seen it too! You know we can't fight it!"

"You have seen the Slayer?" Dorn asked, pretending to be surprised.

Anomen told him what had almost happened in the Temple of Ilmater and how Jaheira had talked her back. There was no Jaheira to bring her back to her senses now. The druid was dead and, though they were friends, the Helmite was under no illusions that Arowan cared so deeply about anyone else in the party.

"I thought I caught a glimpse of it when Yoshimo died too," he admitted. "Though I did not recognize it for what it was at the time."

They watched her sleeping. Anomen still had the Rhynn Lanthorn so there was no risk of the others leaving without them, but they still did not have much time. Once Arowan was found by the Amnian guards or woke up to hurt herself there would be little they could do to prevent her death.

"What do we do?" Anomen asked desperately.

"I do not know," Dorn replied grimly, faking concern. "The Slayer is brought out by her anger and grief. If it emerges again, even we cannot stop it. More commoners will be slain. Perhaps we were wrong to save her, but I could not bring myself to let her die."

"You mean your _master _wouldn't _let_ you let her die," snapped the Helmite, who was not completely braindead whatever Dorn might think.

"It is vastly important to me that Arowan survives. More important than you can possibly know. Believe me or don't," Dorn sighed. "But if we cannot find a way to suppress her feelings long enough to remedy these transformations then I don't see how she can go on living. If the mob doesn't kill her, she will certainly kill herself."

Anomen's brow knotted, and Dorn watched him with glinting eyes saying nothing but willing the Helmite to put two and two together to make…

"There is one way!" Anomen exclaimed suddenly.

"Oh?" asked Dorn innocently.

"When the Order were weaning Arowan off of Numbing Potions they taught me how to make them," the cleric said quickly. "In case we were ever caught out and she was in danger of withdrawal. I could give her some now before she wakes up. That will keep the Slayer at bay long enough until we can find a better way to suppress it."

Dorn had to fight the urge to leap into the air with joy. Only he could hear his patron whooping and cheering through his sword.

"If she can't feel the Slayer won't come, but aren't Numbing Potions very dangerous?" Dorn asked, forcing the excitement out of his voice. "Though she wasn't so very bad last time, as I recall. Was she?"

"Not really, just strange and off-putting," Anomen fretted. "She _did_ try to pluck all our eyes out so that we could join a cult that one time, but other than that she was pretty harmless."

"Well… I suppose…" Dorn rumbled. "How long will it take to make these Numbing Potions of yours?"

"I can dose her right now!" replied Anomen. "I have all the ingredients and I always hid a spare bottle about me. Jaheira made me even after the Order weaned her off them. She figured there was always a risk of Arowan getting hold of some and going into withdrawal again."

"I don't know…" the Blackguard said, though there was a trace of glee in his voice.

"Well I do, half-orc!" Anomen snapped defiantly. "Sit her up and hold her mouth open. I'm the cleric here and I know what I'm doing!"

He opened a secret pocket hidden in the lining of his shirt and pulled out a padded parcel. Inside was Dorn's prize. A tiny grey bottle throbbing with unnatural cold. When the cleric tipped it into the ranger's mouth the icy shock woke her up. She struggled briefly but it was already too late.

Numbing Potion seeped into her veins and spread throughout her whole being, carried by her bloodstream. Without bothering to acknowledge either man, she rose to her feet and strode into the night bearing terrible, cold certainty. The evil had to be stopped.

It was necessary. It was important.


	57. The Great Evil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   

> 
> "_There must have been a moment, at the beginning, where we could have said no. But somehow we missed it." _
> 
> _ Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead_

"Has Sarevok retrieved the Rhynn Lanthorn yet?"

"I have it here," Anomen said, showing her. Arowan took it and turned it this way and that in her freckled hands, inspecting it thoroughly. When she was done, she put it in her own pack rather than handing it back to him.

"Good. Irenicus cannot be allowed to keep a piece of the Bhaalspawn essence. He must be destroyed. Immediately."

"Are you alright?" Anomen asked tentatively.

The ranger performed a quick self-inventory. Her lungs hurt a little from almost drowning, that was to be expected. Her body was telling her that it was hungry. Feeding it was a time-wasting nuisance which would need seeing to soon. Other than that, all was well. The pesky emotions that had clouded her judgement for so long were lifted.

"Oh yes," Arowan assured him, not taking her eyes off the direction she was striding in. The ranger was a fast walker. Most of the time she dropped her pace to accommodate the others, but she was not bothering anymore and Anomen found himself having to scurry to keep up. "You did the right thing. The Numbing Potions will hold the Slayer off, until I see to it that it is destroyed permanently."

"Can it be done?" the Helmite asked her hopefully.

"Oh yes.." she replied once more. "It can certainly be done."

The Blackguard was looking around the Temple District warily. It was only a matter of time before the knight whose armour she had stolen was revived and people started to ask questions. Above them the sky grew lighter, though the blazing Amnian sun had not yet risen above the city walls.

"You have to get out of here," Dorn reminded her. "And quickly."

An alarm was sounding from the direction of the slums. Peasants and beggars tended to be mistrustful of the city guard, but the Slayer's crime was so severe that someone had actually reported it. Before long the whole of Athkatla would be searching for Arowan. Trying to leave by the gates was too risky, but Arowan's party had spent months purging the city sewers of monsters on Keldorn's orders. She knew her way about them like the back of her hand.

They found a pothole and crouched above it, planning their next move.

"Anomen," she turned to the cleric, "You must find Sarevok. Instruct him to travel to Trademeet. I will find him there."

"You don't mean alone, surely? What about Rasaad and Viconia?"

Arowan froze and a slow smile spread across Dorn's face. Anomen mistrusted the half-orc's smile. It showed far too much tusk for his liking.

"What about Viconia…" she echoed slowly. "What about Viconia indeed…"

"Arowan?" Anomen tapped her when she had made no further move or speech for some time. The ranger blinked rapidly as though startled out of deep thought.

"Anomen, you may already have picked up on this, but I should warn you anyway," she said quietly. "Rasaad's brother was a Numbing Potion addict. The bad sort. The sort Sir Keldorn likes to warn the Order's youth wing about constantly. Rasaad was forced to kill Gamaz over it. If he ever discovers that you gave me this potion, I guarantee you he will not understand. By 'not understand' I mean there is a very real possibility that he will attack us both."

She dismissed Anomen and descended into the sewers with her Blackguard, the Rhynn Lanthorn rattling in her pack. Almost immediately they were confronted by a pack of kobolds. The party had cleared a lot of them working for the Order, but they had also destroyed a lot of slimes and oozes. In the absence of their natural predators, kobolds could re-infest a sewer very fast.

Expressionlessly, she watched Dorn butcher them. The half-orc overpowered them so utterly that he was swinging his sword in a lazy arc. He looked bored.

"Try not to hack off their extremities," she instructed him, raising each one as it fell using Eric's ring. "We'll use them as scouts. No doubt the guard will cut off the sewer exits they know about, but these tunnels are not well mapped. Dozens lead beyond the walls. We'll find ourselves an unguarded route."

"And if we can't?"

"Then we'll kill the guards and leave anyway," she said.

"Why hide the Numbing Potions?" he continued to challenge her. "Are you so afraid of Rasaad yn Bashir? I hardly see any threat there!"

"I would rather not fight him if I don't have to," Arowan said repressively. "Might I remind you that he is the consort of the Servant of all Faiths? Battle with him will lead to battle with her… and that is not a confrontation we can win. The gods will not allow her to die."

"Then what do you propose we do?" Dorn bellowed, spraying her face with spit. His voice reverberated throughout the tunnels, and his breath fluttered her hair, but her expression did not so much as flicker.

"As far as she is concerned, I propose we do nothing," she said, sounding as close to amused as a person without feelings can. "We don't need to defeat Viconia, only to avoid her until I have gathered all the Bhaalspawn essence."

Dorn spat into the rancid sewer water.

"You would shrink from the fight? You would have me play some skulking diplomat?"

"Tiresome brute. You couldn't kill her in Baldur's Gate, what makes you think you can kill her now?"

"I assumed that_ you_ would be able to when the time came," he grumbled, disappointed.

The ranger considered him cynically. Did she need him? Possibly not, but destroying the evil would be easier with him on her side… and destroying the evil was necessary. Destroying the evil was important. His opinion wasn't important at all. Ur-Gothoz would see to it that Dorn obeyed her in all things. Then again, a willing horse was always easier to get work out of than a reluctant mule. Or so she'd heard.

"Gathering all of my father's essence means slaughtering every carrier," Arowan told him coldly. "Including Irenicus and every other Freya-like individual Bhaal sired. I cannot believe that she was unique. Fear not Blackguard, you will have your share of violence before the end."

They both knew what that end would be.

An inferno of god power, as she detonated the very essence of Bhaal. In the process of destroying the Slayer she would destroy her father, destroy herself and every evilly aligned person in Toril. Dorn included, but he didn't care. Everyone had to die sometime. He and his master were in it for the violence that would come before. By the time the prophecy came to fruition they would have sent souls beyond count to fill Ur-Gothoz's hellish legions. The Blackguard would perish in this life only to become hell's greatest warlord in the next.

"Eric learnt how to brew numbing potions before he died," Arowan said. "I will acquire the ingredients on the way to our meeting place. In the meantime, I have a job for you."

"If you can concoct it yourself then what do you need that mewling calf Anomen for?" Dorn growled. "Let me run him through!"

Arowan looked politely puzzled.

"Whatever for?" she asked. "Besides, he's still useful. As a cleric he can cast 'Know Alignment' for me. There is no need to destroy those who are not evilly aligned unnecessarily."

She laid a delicate stress on the word _'unnecessarily.' _

For under the influence of Numbing Potions an addict would relentlessly pursue the last thing that had been important to them. Like a ball thrown into space, drifting forever with nothing to slow it down or change its direction. First time around, the most important things to her had been saving her parents from Irenicus and preventing Ur-Gothoz's visions from coming true. But at the instant Anomen administered this potion, all she had cared about was ending the evil and destroying Bhaal's Slayer avatar. Ur-Gothoz had made sure of that.

Arowan's mind was wholly fixated on the destruction of evil in general, and Bhaal specifically. Nothing else mattered now.

The irony was not lost on her, though she was no longer capable of appreciating it.

They emerged, reeking but safe, from a pipe half a mile outside the city walls. Following the sound of running water, Arowan found a stream and hastily washed the sewer muck from her hair and clothes, emerging dripping wet to dry in the sun.

"You're bothering with bathing? Now?" Dorn demanded reprovingly. "Don't you have more important things to worry about?"

"It would not be wise for me to appeal to Queen Ellesime dripping with excrement," she answered frostily. "Even your little present couldn't compensate for that."

She fingered the Charisma Ring. A wise gift from Dorn and Ur-Gothoz. With her own naturally low charisma, how could she ever persuade the elf-queen to counterattack the drow? Which was very important, because if she was to take down her surviving brothers and sisters, she would need an army. Freya had gathered one before she died and it was reasonable to assume that the others were doing the same.

"Do you really intend to help Sarevok get his soul back from Irenicus?" Dorn asked her.

"Of course," Arowan replied lightly. "What sort of sister would I be if I failed to do that? Besides, if we are to put an end to the evil, I need the Bhaal essence intact. That won't happen as long as Irenicus is clinging onto a piece of it. But first, I need you to make a detour."

"Oh?"

"Go to the Umar Hills and destroy the bones of Amauna. Grind her to powder, send her soul to Ur-Gothoz, I don't care how you do it but see it done! I will not have her warning Viconia. These nuisance prophecies end here."

"It is an archaeological site now," Dorn reminded her, "It will be swarming with scholars from the Order of the Radiant Heart."

"And experts on the prophetess Amauna, no doubt," Arowan replied. "Use them. Find out as much as you can about how she planned to harness Amaunator's power to purge the world of evil. With Eric's knowledge at my disposal I daresay I can work it out given time… but there is no sense in us reinventing the wheel. Not when the spell I need already exists."

"They won't want to talk."

Arowan wrung the water from her wavy brown hair. She looked so deceptively innocuous. A pale, increasingly scrawny creature peppered with freckles. When Ur-Gothoz had first stumbled across her, he was sure that his master had made a mistake. After all, he had originally sent Dorn to Dragonspear believing that Freya was the most likely candidate to be the Great Evil.

Yet as soon as he scouted Arowan, Ur-Gothoz had changed his mind, staking everything on her instead. From that moment on, the Demon Lord had shielded her from the sight of the gods, even her own Ilmater. The deities could protect their Servant, but by the same token the demons watched over her adversary.

"I'm sure you can make the people investigating Amauna's temple talk," Arowan mused, studying her fingertips. "And once you have made them talk, make sure they never talk again. Do you understand me?"

It was unfortunate, but by any means possible the evil had to be destroyed. It was necessary. It was important.

Dorn chuckled darkly.

"And all this time," he grinned at her, "You've been trying to keep the Servant of all Faiths safe! You realise that Elhan-elf was going to put her under a geas for you? I swear I came _this_ close to throttling you when you turned his offer down!"

Arowan rounded on him slowly, like a rotating glacier.

"You find no amusement in that?" he asked. "You struck me as someone who enjoyed irony."

"I don't think you have fully grasped how Numbing Potions work. I don't _enjoy_ anything," she replied. Then she shooed him away with a dismissive wave of her fingers. "No matter. Your understanding is irrelevant to the task at hand."

"Do you trust Anomen to keep quiet about the potions?"

"For now," she replied coolly. "If he blabbers then we'll have to kill Rasaad after all, but best not to alert the Servant of all Faiths for no good reason. The longer she trusts me the more time we have."

"Trusts you?" Dorn scoffed. "She hates you!"

"She more than hates me!" Arowan said with a small smile. "The fates themselves have pitched us at each other's throats. There were moments when the urge to destroy each other almost engulfed us utterly. We both felt it, I'm sure. But she also trusts me. Trusts me so implicitly that it hasn't even occurred to her that she trusts me at all. I can make use of that, Dorn. Now go."

* * *

* * *

Sarevok was beside himself that Anomen had vanished with the Rhynn Lanthorn and had to be held back from beating the cleric when he returned.

"Imbecile! We wasted half the night turning Bodhi's lair upside-down searching for that thing! I ought to pluck out your eyes with my sword! And why are you so wet?"

"You could try, abomination," seethed Anomen, who was overtired, strained beyond reason and decidedly not in the mood. "I doubt you would succeed. Arowan has it now, she will meet us in Trademeet. I suggest we get some sleep afore noon."

"_You_ rest, weakling," growled Sarevok. "I will leave immediately. I know not what game my little sister is playing, but if she double-crosses me she won't live to regret it!"

"What if she is still in league with Irenicus?" Viconia hissed spitefully. "She gave Freya's fur coat to Bodhi after all!"

"I do not believe that of her," Rasaad said sternly. "And deep down neither do you."

"Perhaps not," conceded Viconia reluctantly. "But even you must admit that she has grown unhinged of late."

It was their first civil word to each other since spending the night together, though they'd fought side-by-side. The drow remembered Amauna's warning that she trusted in error, and stepped pointedly away from him. Rasaad noted it and grimaced.

On the way out of Athkatla there were more guards about the gates and they spent longer than usual pawing at Viconia. When Rasaad demanded to know the reason they replied that some woman in the slums had transformed into a monster and killed people. Anomen paled, but nobody else in the party reacted much to this news. There were always murders in Athkatla, and there were always monsters.

Determined as he was, even Sarevok could not make the entire journey in one day after being up all night fighting. He marched the party on until they could go no further and they unrolled their bedrolls, without the energy left to pitch tents. Rasaad wandered away to a nearby stream to meditate, leaving Anomen hunched in his blankets plagued by guilt and anxiety. He was far from certain that he had done the right thing by giving Numbing Potions to Arowan, but what choice did he have? The options were that, let her kill herself or let the Slayer kill everyone else!

"You do not fool me male," Viconia whispered harshly, creeping up behind the meditating monk. "I know what you are."

"You waste your breath, my friend," Rasaad replied wearily. "The shadows you try to draw me into are not nearly so dark as the ones in my mind."

He uncrossed his legs and stood, dark eyes fixed balefully out across the still water.

"Amauna came to me!" Viconia said abruptly. "In a dream, after you had rolled your sweating bulk from my presence. She warned me that I trust in error. So what are you? Some agent of Alorgoth? A spawn of the Spider Queen?"

Rasaad shot her a withering glare.

"Is this the reason for your cruelty these past few days? I have given you more reason to trust me than any person living, save perhaps your brother," he told her. "If you cannot trust me, you cannot trust anyone, and why are you in such a hurry to trust Amauna? The very being whose warnings about the coming cull drew you to the attention of the gods in the first place?"

Viconia hesitated. 'Trust is for the foolish and the dead.' That was what the prophetess had said, and yet she desperately wanted to trust Rasaad. She needed to.

"Perhaps I have been unduly harsh on you, male," she admitted stiffly.

It was hardly an apology, but Rasaad smiled and accepted it just the same.


	58. Lanfear

"So this is Trademeet?" Sarevok surveyed the town, clearly underwhelmed. "To hear my adopted father's merchant friends waxing lyrical about it, I had expected a paradise of commerce. All I see are some silk sellers and a tribe of second-rate prostitutes. Where is my blasted sister?"

They checked the tavern first but nobody had seen her, then the market place and finally asked the guard. Sarevok became increasingly frustrated as his worry grew that Arowan and the Rhynn Lanthorn were not in Trademeet at all. He overturned a fruit stall, ruining the produce and pointing his father's sword in the face of a frightened grocer, whose only crime was not having seen her.

Sarevok seized an orange, intending to force it whole down the poor man's throat, only to find it rotting in his hand. He looked at it in bewilderment as it decayed and shrivelled with a soft mulching noise.

"Temper, temper brother."

"You!" Sarevok snarled. He waved the orange at her. "What is this in aid of?"

"Just a gentle reminder of what I can do now." Arowan smiled at him coldly. "In case you were thinking of trying anything stupid."

"Give me the Rhynn Lanthorn!"

"Certainly," she replied mildly, holding it out to him. "My, my aren't we in a bad mood?"

He snatched it so violently that he grazed her hand. The ranger watched her own blood drip down her palm with mild interest, before wiping it on the inside of her sleeve.

"Now begone!"

"Hang on!" Anomen protested.

"I'm afraid I cannot oblige you there," Arowan said sweetly. "You are weakened, dear brother, from the loss of your Bhaal essence. Without my aid and Dorn's there is a possibility that Irenicus may vanquish you and I cannot allow that."

"Since when were you so concerned about the status of my soul?" Sarevok snarled. "You were going to kill me and let Irenicus have it until your precious Yoshimo died!"

"Yes that's true, I was," she answered, running her fingernails slowly over her scar. "But a lot has changed since then. Suffice it to say I have a... vested interest… in your wellbeing. Brother."

"As do we all," Rasaad agreed, "None of us wish to see Irenicus massacre Suldanessellar…"

"Speak for yourself," muttered Viconia, though with little real conviction.

"…but you have some questions to answer Arowan."

"You mean about Freya's fur?" she asked. Then without warning she switched from ice cold to violent crocodile tears. She buried her face in her fingers so that they would not see that her eyes were dry.

It was bad acting. Jaheira would have spotted in an instant that Arowan _never _made a sound when she cried. Yet feelings were not Rasaad's strong subject, and he was thrown by her theatrics.

"They m- m- made me!" she wailed. "Oh Rasaad, it was awful! They threatened to kill you, and Yoshimo and Jaheira and e- e- everyone!"

"Feeble minded coward!" spat Viconia.

'_Feeble minded sucker,'_ thought Arowan, sobbing louder than ever.

"Where is Dorn anyway?" demanded Sarevok uncomfortably.

"Dorn will be joining us shortly, he had some business to attend to," replied Arowan, switching from howling to neutral with unnatural swiftness. Anomen was glancing repeatedly from her to Rasaad, starting to think that maybe he ought to say something, but conscious of the warning she'd given him about the monk's brother. "We may proceed to the forest of Tethir to search for the city. He knows to follow us there."

"What sort of business?" asked Rasaad, suspiciously.

"The sort that is none of yours."

Their behaviour had excited a lot of attention. So much so that a messenger came pelting from the inn to catch them. She was a young woman in a bonnet and apron sent from the inn and bearing an unexpected message. Anomen recognized her as the same lady who had comforted Coran after he'd learnt of Freya's death.

"Arrow? Gorion's Ward?" she panted, out of breath from running so fast.

"I dislike that moniker. I do not consider myself Gorion's anything," she replied archly, but she was curious. It had been a long time since anyone had called her Arrow. "Go on."

"I bring an urgent message from Coran of Tethir!" she cried. She seemed quite distressed. "Oh, I should have known! I wondered why I hadn't heard a word from him for so long. He is in terrible trouble! Wolfweres! You must help him!"

"We don't have time for this nonsense!" growled Sarevok, shoving her aside. Coran had aided Freya in killing him first time around and he had not forgotten the wretched elf. He and the werewolf had been inseparable; so different physically but as twins in their stupidity.

"Coran was our comrade in arms, he saved my life," Rasaad declared. "Honour dictates that we _make _the time."

"We are headed for Tethir regardless," Arowan shrugged. "It couldn't hurt to stop by if it keeps everybody happy."

"Perhaps you are hoping he'll keep you happiest of all?" suggested Viconia. Rasaad flinched.

"Yes, I am very fond of Coran," she agreed, aware of the importance of keeping up the pretence of having feelings. "I am sure that seeing him again will cheer me up. Perhaps we will have sex again. I daresay that would be very entertaining."

She gave a smile which was as broad as it was transparently artificial, but Viconia assumed that she was being sarcastic.

* * *

* * *

Sarevok would tolerate no further delay. Without anyone agreeing to it he had, in Jaheira's absence, stepped seamlessly into the role of party leader. If only by virtue of the fact that nobody else wanted the job.

As they set out onto the road again, Viconia whispered to Rasaad that she had _told him _Arowan was becoming unhinged. Yet beyond this she suspected nothing.

'Dense' was the first word that sprang to mind describing the Forest of Tethir, closely followed by 'intense.' Arowan had pictured Coran's homeland as being like him; light and breezy. In fact, it was so imposing as to be bordering on intimidating.

There were trees so vast that a dozen people could form a ring about them without their hands touching. Little light filtered through the dense canopy, and the floor was thick with emerald moss. Ivy cascaded down the trunks of the trees.

To the casual observer it appeared utterly feral, but to the eyes of a ranger it was clearly cultivated. For one thing there were mixed evergreen and deciduous trees. For another many of the fallen branches bore the marks of saw teeth. What's more, they were encountering far too many creatures. The rabbits and elk they stumbled across were not half so frightened of them as truly wild animals ought to be.

"So, this is Tethir?" the ranger said, looking around. "It's not what I expected."

She shrugged. After wandering around for some time, they caught the first solid sign of its occupants. A cabin which was far more like a human construction than elfin and the only one of its kind. It looked quite new.

Pacing outside it was Coran. The elf looked almost as unwell as Arowan herself, for in his own way he was having an equally difficult time. He had taken the loss of his best friend hard and clung to Safana for support through his depression. Unfortunately, his own people had not taken kindly to her and she, in turn, had been cruel to him.

Boring as the prospect of Suldanessellar had sounded to Safana, it had at least been a city. Only the elves would not let Coran's latest fling past the gates and she had ended up trapped here in this squalid little hut he had thrown up for them.

She was frantic to leave both it and him, but there was still the matter of Coran's inheritance. The Hero of Baldur's Gate had left him everything and Safana was determined to dig up proof of Freya's death so that she could claim her share.

"Hail, good friend Arowan!" the elf exclaimed when he spotted them. "I am most pleased to see you here, you of all people, for I am in most dire need!"

"Then you have the right woman. Arowan has never shied away from seeing to your needs before," Viconia remarked, with a sideways look at the ranger. Rasaad's jaw was stiffening.

"What do you mean, 'me of all people?'" Arowan asked indifferently. "You sent for me."

Coran looked puzzled.

"No… no I didn't…" he said slowly. Then he beamed in relief to have some allies. "But it doesn't matter why you came, the important thing is I need your help desperately! I have only just got back to the cottage to pick up my weapons after Safana and I were set upon by giant wolves. Wolfweres, I fear!"

"Just now?" Arowan enquired silkily. "So… you didn't get into trouble until _after_ we received the message in Trademeet telling us you needed help?"

"You were in Trademeet?" Coran asked. "What a co-incidence! A messenger arrived on horseback from there for Safana, just before we were set upon!"

"Coincidence indeed," she said dryly. She was starting to believe that she had a special idiot-gravity, to have pulled so many into her orbit. "I think I am starting to see where this is going. Put up much of a fight did she, when the wolfweres took her?"

"They can't have gone far," Coran explained. He was too preoccupied with Safana to notice the ranger's sceptical tone.

"No, I don't expect they have," Arowan replied indifferently. "Good luck with your hunt. Goodbye Coran."

The elf could not believe his pointed ears. Neither, apparently, could Rasaad. He was watching Arowan with an appalled expression.

"Come with me, help me!" the elf demanded suddenly. "I beg of you! I can track the wolfweres but I can't beat them alone. I'll try if I have to though. I'm not losing both of them!"

"Both of them?"

"Freya _and_ Safana."

"Ah."

"Of course we will help you," Rasaad pledged at once. "Please accept my condolences for Freya's death. We were not so close to her as you were, but she was our friend too and we miss her."

Coran's face contorted. He'd had weeks to process Freya's death, but he still couldn't digest the fact that she was really gone. It made him all the more adamant that he would _never _lose Safana.

"We don't have time for this!" muttered Sarevok.

Coran noticed him for the first time. What little colour there was in his face left it.

"You!" he breathed. "I cannot believe it! We killed you! How can this be?"

"Dramatic though I'm sure this reunion would have been," Arowan butted in, in a bored voice, "I am going to have to cut it short. Rasaad is insisting we assist Safana and that's wasting enough time as it is. Look at it this way Sarevok, Irenicus is battling an entire city of elves, which means the longer we take to reach him the more fatigued he will be."

"And the more drained I will be!" objected Sarevok.

"And it will give Dorn time to catch us up," she pointed out.

There was that. Even Sarevok had to admit that having Dorn Il-Khan on their side would substantially increase his odds of getting his soul back. The half-orc was a juggernaut, and he rued not having had him in his party during the events of Baldur's Gate. If he had, things might have gone very differently. That histrionic elf would not still be drawing breath.

Coran led the way through the forest. In some places the trees were so thick that their way grew almost black, and there were frequent yelps from the party as brambles and nettles stung at their skin.

Wolfwere camp (if you could call it that for there were no tents and few belongings) was not well hidden. It was nothing more than a pit sheltered from the elements by thicket and reeking of the beasts' piss from where they had marked their territory.

In it crouched a large grey wolfwere surrounded by her pack. She was nowhere near the size Freya had been, nor as attractive a creature, but every bit as slobbery. Yellow eyes glinted semi-intelligently at him.

The difference between werewolves and wolfweres, as Freya had once explained to him, was that a werewolf was essentially a human with wolfish features. Whereas a wolfwere was an animal with a few human characteristics. For example, they could speak, but they could not really reason and had limited concept of ownership beyond; I'm the strongest therefore it is mine. This premise could be applied as much to mates and pack members as it could to prey.

Sarevok muscled his way ahead, eager to get this over with and indifferent as to whether this Safana-woman lived or died.

"You intrude on my domain, humans!" the grey monster growled.

"No, No!" Safana cried eagerly, pointing at Arowan. "This is the one, Lanfear. Ranger! Tell me where Freya is if you want to live."

"Freya is dead," the ranger reminded her coolly.

"As will you be," interjected the wolf known as Lanfear. She started toward Arowan, but Safana stepped between them.

"Don't be a fool!" cried Safana, whose eyes were dancing with greed. "The Hero of Baldur's Gate had riches beyond your dreams. Coran may be Freya's heir, but he cannot inherit a penny until we can prove she's actually dead! Now where is her fur coat Arowan? Tell me!"

"It is on its way to Baldur's Gate in the arms of a vampire."

This was such a random answer that it threw Safana off her stride. She was not looking her best. The forest did not suit her. It had been weeks since she had used up the last of her makeup and without potions her hair was thin. In fact, she was starting to show her age. If Coran had first met her looking and acting like this, he would not have given her a second glance, but events had tied him to her emotionally in a most unhealthy way. Less in love, and more in need.

"_Why?_" spluttered Safana, unable to imagine what possible reason a vampire might have to prove to the city's citizenry that their Hero was dead.

"They're going to put it on Skie Silvershield's body," said Arowan with perfect indifference. "As a funeral shroud."

Behind her, the elf vomited loudly. That his best friend had died, and how she had died had knocked him for six as it was. The idea that her skin was going to be draped over the body of her own wife made his brain want to crawl out through his nostrils.

"What have you done to Coran?" snarled Lanfear.

The beast wore no clothes, carried no possessions and was surrounded by her pack in the woods. They didn't even bother with tents or blankets. Arowan wondered what possible use such a creature could have for Freya's riches.

"Safana?" Coran cried, still bent over a pool of his own sick. "She's dead! Don't you care?"

"Freya joined the Flaming Fist and kicked us out of Baldur's Gate," Safana spat. "That bitch betrayed me one time too many. Besides, everybody else knew she must be dead months ago. You are the only one who seemed to be in denial about that!

"This… this was a trap! You lured Arowan out here to get your hands on Freya's coat!" Coran cried, horrified. "Just so that I'd inherit her wealth. I thought the wolfwere's had kidnapped you to do gods-knew what! How could you do this?"

"How could _I?_" Safana echoed, turning scarlet with fury. "After everything I did for the Bitch of Baldur's Gate, she exiled me! Threatened me with arrest if I didn't leave! And don't dare try to tell me that she didn't mean it, Coran. She meant it."

Coran's mouth was hanging open and a low, broken moan was eking out of it. It reminded Anomen disturbingly of how Arowan had reacted to turning into the Slayer and killing all those people. He was concerned for the man and what he might do next, though he had never met him in his life.

Safana also sensed that he was being pushed too far. She took a deep breath and smiled at Coran ingratiatingly.

"Darling, it all turned out for the best," she said. "Lanfear, help me capture Arowan. We'll bring her back to Baldur's Gate and have her testify that Freya is dead. Then I can help you enjoy what's rightfully yours, Coran. That _is_ why she left you the money after all. So that you could enjoy it."

"Strictly speaking Freya left him the money because she thought her father-in-law would have her murdered if she left it to the Silvershields," Arowan pointed out, in a neutral tone. Safana glared at her, but she was about to have bigger problems.

Bigger, hairier problems.

"I do not follow your orders, human!" Lanfear snarled. "I care nothing for your riches. All I wished for was that Coran would return to me at last!"

"NO!" Safana howled. Arowan was already meandering away, incapable of distraction from the path on which her Numbing Potions had set her, and with her Freya's fortune was escaping. "Lanfear, capture her! I demand it!"

"You demand nothing from me, witch!" howled Lanfear. Around her, her pack took up the cry, making the treetops quiver. "I have pined for years for my mate, and I will not be kept from him by you!"

She struck so fast that there was nothing Coran could do. Her claws raked across Safana's belly spilling her insides onto the ground below. Safana could only stare as first loops of her intestines slipped from her followed by other red blobs of dubious function.

"C- Coran?" she whimpered.

In his mind Coran was retreating to a happier time. When the three of them; he, Safana and Freya, had roamed the Sword Coast as a unit. Drinking, fighting, looting and stealing. Freya had been the muscle of the operation, a dual wielder by training, whose favoured killing blow had been to slash both swords over an opponent's neck, severing the artery in two places at once. This was because the complex double wound it left was all but impossible for a cleric to fix.

He could not help but be reminded of this, as Lanfear's claws reached around either side of Safana's neck and scratched through her jugular in a crisscrossing motion. Safana collapsed, blood spurting from her mouth, nose and wounds. The clerics of Suldanessellar could never fix this, even if they were willing to try.

"Oh gods!" cried Anomen, horrified.

"No! Safana, my love!" Coran cried.

"Do not wail for the human, my Coran," purred Lanfear, transforming back. "She betrayed you and never loved you. Not as I do."

"You… you _love _me?" he whimpered. "How is it that a beast loves me?"

"You do not recognize me, my love?" she asked. "Have there really been so many? We have lain together once before you and I. That slobbering beast Freya forced you to abandon me, but I have sought you out ever since."

Coran's eyes widened with recognition.

"No, no!" he screamed hastily. "That was a misunderstanding! I didn't know what you were!"

"But you took me with you from Werewolf Island?" the creature cocked its furry head to one side, puzzled and hurt.

"Only because the werewolf pack would have ripped you to shreds if we hadn't!" Coran protested. "Sleeping with wolfweres is anathema to them because you're… because you're…"

"Yes?"

"An animal," whispered Coran. "But… but I didn't know."

"I am an animal," agreed Lanfear, "An animal which once mated is bound for life. I cannot go on like this anymore, bonded to a… an elf. If I cannot have you then I shall break our union and free myself to choose another."

"Yes! Do that!" Coran agreed, nodding vigorously.

"I think she means she's going to kill you," Arowan noted, in a tone of purest unconcern. Still, Lanfear was clearly evil and evil must be destroyed.

She raised her bow, but first she raised Safana.

At first Coran's heart leapt thinking, by some miracle, that Lanfear's claws had not dug so deep and that Safana was still alive. That hope was immediately dashed. Her bloodshot eyes were fixed, staring blankly in their sockets, as she lurched at the wolfwere, trailing her innards behind her.

Lanfear found that the undead did not fall so easily as the living, and slashing did not work, but she could not bring herself to bite the zombie. Necromancy gave off an unnatural, repulsive smell to a canine nose. While the rest of the party and pack occupied themselves with each other, Arowan and Coran shot at Lanfear until she looked more porcupine than wolf.

By the time the monster fell, she had torn up Safana more than ever. The zombie lurched automatically to the one who had raised her, leaving a line of blood like a scarlet slug-trail.

"You're a _necromancer_?" Coran sobbed. _"You?"_

He was beginning to doubt whether he had ever really known anyone in his life. Doubting his heart, his judgement and even his own sanity. Safana had hatched this evil plot and Arowan, the most benign Ilmatari he had ever come across, was raising the dead.

"Why?" screamed Coran, tearing at his auburn hair. He was desperate for some explanation which would make all of this alright, though he could not think what that could be. "Please the gods Arowan, why did you bring her back?"

To the unfeeling ranger it was a nonsensical question. Lanfear was evil and evil had to be destroyed. It was necessary. It was important. Bringing back a carcass was one of the weapons in her arsenal to achieve that goal and Safana's corpse had been the only one to hand. She looked into his green eyes, which had lost all of their sparkle, with her own fathomless coldness.

"Why not?"

Coran lost it, in a manner which reminded Anomen more of Arowan than ever. He feared profoundly that the elf was on the edge of doing himself serious harm as he watched him babble and point from Arowan to Safana and back again.

"You're mad and evil! All of you! All of you except… her…" He thought of Freya, the human-Labrador.

Dumb, predictable and utterly transparent. If his best friend were alive, she'd know what to do. Whatever she suggested might not necessarily be wise, but at least she would do it with conviction.

"Calm yourself, my friend," pleaded Rasaad.

"No! She was the only one and… and you let this happen to her! You let them skin her alive and turn her into a fur coat, but I won't… I won't… I won't…" he broke off and started gulping air as though he were a human suffering from an asthma attack. "I won't let them bury Skie in her skin!"

Coran scrambled away from them looking utterly insensible.

"Where are you going?" cried Anomen.

"Baldur's Gate!" he answered. "I'm going to find whatever is left of Freya and set it on fire!"

With that the elf fled north through the wood with only the clothes on his back and the weapons in his hands. He looked like a deranged beggar, but once he got there he would be richer than half the aristocracy combined. For once Jaheira delivered her gruesome parcel to Duke Silvershield there would be no more doubt as to Freya's fate and Coran was her legal heir.

"Well that was a waste of time," Arowan said idly, lifting the spell on Safana. The thief's mangled body flopped into a sad little heap for the foxes to feast on.

Rasaad rounded on Arowan, his eyes blazing. A dead wolfwere lay at his feet. He had just snapped its neck.

"There is something very, very wrong with you!" he steamed. "And once Irenicus has fallen we shall have no more to do with one another. The path I walk is more than dark enough as it is, without having to suffer your company."

Arowan had already been chewing over ways to get shot of the Servant of all Faiths without arousing suspicion. Now the monk was volunteering to leave and take her with him. She fixed him with ghastly, blank eyes.

"What a shame," she said in a voice like cardboard. "Oh well. If you insist."

* * *

* * *

They spent the night in Coran's cabin. It was tragic how hard the elf had tried to make Safana happy. Her room had a huge vanity table and a walk-in wardrobe, though it was almost empty. Her four-poster had sawdust strewn around the floor from where he was midway through carving it for her and there were even some dyed animal furs to make hangings.

Granted they were rather morbid, for he had tried to dye them red in imitation of the silken hangings at the Ducal Palace. Still, she ought to have given him points for effort.

The room where he slept, on the other hand, was nothing but a squalid pile of blankets on the floor. A leather-bound journal lay next to his pillow. Arowan could not read it properly, nor was she interested enough to try, but a picture he had drawn in it caught her attention.

It was of himself, Freya and Safana. The younger version of themselves, before Safana had crow's feet and Freya had become a responsible commander and piled on the pounds. His lopsided auburn hair flopped over his emerald eyes in a rather dashing way, but he had not overly flattered himself. If anything the extra chin he had carried then was a bit exaggerated. The picture was quite good, but smudged in places from where the elf had cried over it.

Arowan was reminded of another picture in her possession, pulled it out and unfolded it. Imoen had drawn it as a child and it showed her holding hands with Gorion and all twelve Candlekeep Bhaalspawn in a row. The big happy family little Imoen had always wished they could be, but never were.

Abruptly, she got up and strode out of the room to find Anomen. For a moment she thought she'd felt a flicker of something. Guilt over killing Imoen. Better produce more Numbing Potion and put a stop to that. Guilt would prevent her from destroying the evil, and she could not allow that to happen.

Sarevok slipped into the vacated room and picked the pitiful drawing up. He stared at it for a long time for he remembered them, dimly, though he had been a young boy when Gorion took him from the temple. There had been a mousey little child, barely more than a toddler, who might have been Arowan though he wasn't sure. His attention had been taken up with Freya. Even then the pair had picked on each other.

"Thorg…" he muttered, running his thumb over their crudely drawn faces. "Afoxe… Draxle… At least Gorion let you keep your names, if not your memories."

Of course, if the Harpers hadn't freed them from the temple they would all have been sacrificed, no doubt about that. Yet their childhood there had not been terrible. When the Cult of Bhaal were not about the actual business of murder they were really quite mundane. Not like the Cyricists who replaced them. Those people were lunatics for all seasons.

"You did not strike me as a nostalgic, Sarevok."

The Bhaalspawn glared up. Rasaad's bulk was filling the doorway, arms folded so that his biceps bulged. It didn't impress him, though in his weakened essence-drained state he would lose in a fight.

"You know nothing about me, monk," he grunted. "And I am content for it to remain that way."

* * *

* * *

That night, refilled with Numbing Potion, Arowan settled into an untroubled sleep. She had quite forgotten her body's earlier warning about needing to eat, and woke feeling curiously dizzy. Anomen stood over her that morning at breakfast, supervising her to ensure that she had some food and agonizing over whether to tell the others about the potions.

As they began their search for the elf temple where Elhan awaited them, the Helmite pulled Rasaad aside for a word.

"Rasaad, like me you have lost a sibling," he began, feeling that it could do no harm to test the water on the issue of Numbing Potions. Perhaps Arowan was exaggerating the monk's strength of feeling. After all she and Rasaad had not been on friendly terms for a long time. Perhaps he had mellowed.

"Indeed," replied Rasaad quietly. "The loss of Gamaz gnaws at my heart every day, as I am sure Moira's does at yours."

"Yes…" replied Anomen. Though not every day. He tried _not _to think about Moira's murder and the course that sad event had set his life on. It was too late, far too late, to change any of that now. "Though your situation had another layer did it not? Gamaz was addicted to Numbing Potions."

"Alorgoth gave them to him," the monk said, his expression darkening, "Because of him I was forced to slay my own brother and I will never rest until he has paid for it."

"It must have come as a shock to discover that Arowan was an addict to."

Shock, it seemed was an understatement. Anomen soon realized that not only had Arowan not been exaggerating, but rather had understated it. The monk's black-inked hands balled into fists and his voice shook violently.

"I will _never _forgive her for it!" he spat. "Never! How could she drink Numbing Potions after everything that happened?" Then he deflated a little. "Sometimes I wonder if I had a hand in driving them to it. Both of them. Arowan and Gamaz."

"Clearly it was Irenicus who drove her to it," Anomen said, finding himself placing a comforting hand on the other man's shoulder.

"And for that he will answer with his life, just as Alorgoth shall some day pay with his!" Rasaad declared, his voice trembling with rage.

Well, that was nice and clear. Anomen said no more. His mind turned back to Safana, the only woman he had ever been intimate with, now food for the worms.

* * *

* * *

They found Elhan and his army. For the most part the drow had given up their assault with the fall of Matron Mother Ardulace, and the elves were ready to retake their city. Dorn arrived not long after on horseback. He was rather too heavy for his mount and it was difficult to say whether rider or steed had enjoyed the arrangement less. Arowan assumed that the creature had once belonged to one of the Order's archaeologists.

"Is it done?" she asked the Blackguard quietly.

"Amauna is silenced. There will be no more prophecies."

"No doubt her soul will make an interesting addition to your foul master's collection. Now I see why she didn't speak directly to Viconia while we were laying out her bones. She could hardly warn her about me when I was right there. What about your other task?"

I have discovered the incantation you will require to unleash Bhaal's power," Dorn murmured. "A tainted fountain marks the cursed spot where Amauna attempted the ritual.* But how do you mean to obtain his essence in the first place?"

"The Bhaal cultist we came across in the Twofold Temple mentioned that someone named Amelyssan is responsible for collecting it. We shall have to seek her out. No more talking for now, the monk is watching us again."

They followed the light of the Rhynn Lanthorn through the darkened forest. As they drew closer to Suldanessellar, it grew brighter and brighter until it dazzled like a beacon. Yet there was no city. Sarevok paced the forest floor in a state of increasing agitation until suddenly there was a tremendous thud.

A dead elf had tumbled from the canopy above and smashed into the ground at the ranger's feet. The elves cried out and some of their hands flew to their mouths. One of Elhan's soldiers seemed to know the victim, for he raced forward and shook the corpse, crying out the dead man's name. Arowan, however, did not so much as blink.

"Another two inches and I do believe that would have crushed me," she mused indifferently, peering up into the treetops. "There's a walkway up there."

"I don't see it," snapped Viconia.

"It blends in with the trees and you have the eyesight of a mole," remarked Arowan. "But trust me, it's there. Listen."

They did. The distant sounds from above were not birdsong but screaming. A battle was being fought above though it sounded extremely one-sided.

"How do we get up there?" cried Rasaad.

"There are steps built into some of the trees," Elhan answered. "Follow me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Writer's Note:** I may have to do a retrospective-rewrite around the fountain when I finish the story and go back to tidy up. This wasn't what I'd originally had in mind for it, it was supposed to be about the Umar witch. When I played through the game with Arrow, first she lost her soul, then Rasaad ditched her and then she missed a ranger stronghold quest while she was in Spellhold. The villagers' reaction to you if this happens is extremely harsh. It was at that point in the game that I hc her as losing her sanity and started playing her as a fallen ranger...
> 
> Anyway, getting back to the fountain, I did intend to have it be part of that storyline but since Part III is already much too long and this would have added another five chapters minimum, I cut it.
> 
>   
**On another note:** I've had conversations with a few readers around whether my charnames are based on anyone. I said Freya was based on Gannicus and 'Lucky' Jack Aubrey, but that Arowan was not inspired by anyone specific. That wasn't strictly true; she is actually very loosely based on Arthas Menethil. I figured saying that too soon would give the game away though. ;)


	59. The Death of Irenicus

"It looks just like Urst Natha."

This remark of Arowan's drew outraged gasps from both Elhan and Viconia, but it was true nonetheless. The drow may have swapped tree supports for stalagmites but the pattern of building on circular platforms was very distinctive. A few less flowers and a few more spiders and one would be hard-pressed to tell the two apart.

Many of the buildings were on fire and part of the city had been taken by Irenicus's minions, which included his drow allies. A lot of them had been slain by the defenders, their bodies strewn everywhere just as Arowan had once described. Viconia turned to her.

"Is it possible that you made a mistake?" she asked her, hopefully. "Is _this_ the city you saw burning in Ur-Gothoz's visions?"

"No."

"We must proceed with caution," Elhan advised. "Not all will have the strength to withstand an onslaught like this. Their safety must take priority."

The dead bodies slumped as far as the eye could see in every direction suggested that some of them already hadn't. The survivors had spotted Elhan and his troops and were flocking toward them, clearing the city.

"We must seek out Ellesime," he told them. "She will know what to do. She has a link to the divine similar to your own, though through a far more benevolent spirit. Failing that, find our high priestess Demin. She has the power to summon spirit guardians, mystic servants of the Seldarine to crush Irenicus's serfs!"

"Very good," Arowan replied. "You stay here with the guard and keep the civilians safe."

"You do not wish us to accompany you?" Elhan looked surprised, but also undisguisedly relieved.

"Certainly not. You keep your army intact," she said, adding under her breath; "We'll be needing it later."

Demin's house was to the west of the city. The party fought their way there through golems and Rakshasa. One particularly nasty flail of a golem's fist threatened to crush Viconia's skull, only without warning a thick branch fell from up high and toppled it from the bridge. It dropped to the forest floor with an almighty crash, still punching mindlessly at nothing. Even now the gods protected their Chosen One.

"Careful how you kill those!" Arowan said when they were set upon by a drow raiding party. Dorn and Sarevok tried to stab them in such a way as to leave their parts in working order. As soon as they died, she brought them back again. With the golems and rakshasa, however, she simply pointed and said, "Useless, useless…" before letting Dorn smash them to bits.

Unfortunately, by the time they reached the priestess's house, Demin was already dead. A drow torturer looked up from his last ministrations and smiled. He had one eye and a twisted, scarred face. They got the impression that he had learned his craft through first-hand experience.

"At last!" he cackled. "She held out for days and it was growing tedious. I shall enjoy some fresh meat. But I suppose I should be official about this… uh… you there! All citizens must stay indoors under threat of death. The high priestess was being punished for her part in our master's curse. You shall die screaming for even thinking to approach her house."

"So much for spirit guardians," grunted Dorn.

"It will take days to purge all these monsters from the city!" Sarevok complained, as the two slew the drow together. "We don't have time for this."

Arowan was watching the chaos below out of Demin's window. A steel golem had cornered an elfin mage on one of the platforms. He had been using his powers to conceal himself but magics were futile against golems and it squashed him with one thump.

"Not to worry brother," she said softly, "I think some spirit guardians could be arranged."

She closed her eyes and began to chant, drawing Eric's knowledge of necromancy from the ring. The dead were everywhere but she was careful not to raise those corpses too close to Elhan and the remaining civilians.

From a distance all they would see were elf-like warriors arising from nowhere to resist the minions of Irenicus.

"Rillifane's avatar has come to deliver us!" they heard one elf cry joyously as they returned to Elhan.

"Divine intervention is indeed a wonderful thing," Arowan remarked idly. "Best if we wait here until the spirit guardians have done their work. They are _marvellously_ enraged."

Rasaad was glaring at her with utmost loathing. Spirit guardians? They were nothing of the sort! While these innocent civilians cheered and praised her, Arowan was desecrating the bodies of their friends and families by raising them up to fight.

"Khalid and Jaheira would never have countenanced this!" he whispered.

"Do shut up!" hissed Viconia. "In the entirety of our acquaintance this is the first sensible thing I have ever seen the rivvil brat do!"

"A vast improvement!" Dorn concurred, and Sarevok nodded. "She grows stronger by the hour."

Rasaad suddenly felt very alone on his moral island. He looked to Anomen for support but for some reason the cleric was determinedly avoiding making eye contact.

"While you were gone, I have discovered from those fleeing the city that Irenicus has captured our Queen Ellesime," Elhan informed them urgently. "This is our fault. We sent too many away to fight the drow. Irenicus must have stirred them against us to lure our forces south and leave the city defenceless."

The distant fighting was dying away. Most of Irenicus's minions had gone but Arowan's zombies were no match for the largest golems. She discretely dropped the spell on the last of her creations, letting them die once more, and left Elhan's living soldiers to mop up the rest.

"Have your men lure the golems onto the bridges connecting your platforms," she advised him. "Then cut the ropes. That will send them crashing to the forest floor."

"What if they try to bring down the trees?"

"They wouldn't do that unless Irenicus gave them specific orders to do so," Sarevok replied. "We sometimes used golems to guard the vaults of the Iron Throne. They're not capable of original thought."

"Rasaad's brother had an interesting idea for fixing that problem," Arowan told him conversationally. "He was experimenting on rats; replacing their skin with metal plates to make sentient golems. I _think _he was planning to turn Khalid into his first humanoid specimen but-"

"ENOUGH AROWAN!" Rasaad thundered. He turned to an aghast Elhan. "I was forced to slay my brother after he fell to such depths but I am unclear as to why our companion is bringing this up now. I can only assume that the things she has endured at Irenicus's hands have addled her mind."

The elf captain nodded, looking more strained than ever. He pulled his helmet from his head, letting his limp hair flop down sadly. Even his ears had a distinct droop to them.

"I understand the shame all to well," he assured him. "You are not an elf, so it will be hard for you to fathom why we are so loathe to speak of this, but The Exiles were not always as you know them now."

"Yes, yes, Bodhi and Irenicus were darthiir," drawled Viconia. "We know."

Elhan blinked.

"How?"

"We were companions of the Hero of Baldur's Gate," Rasaad explained. "As a werewolf, she could smell him."

"Ah. How many others know? No… never mind. That hardly matters now," Elhan sighed, mopping the sweat from his brow. "Yes, he was elven as we are, but no longer. Queen Ellesime cast him out for he had proven he was not elven at heart. He was the greatest of our mages, as skilled as any could be without the blessings of the gods, and was even the lover of our Queen but it was not enough."

"That's what those clones were about!" Arowan twigged. "Interesting." She had seen both the captive clones in his dungeon and the elf queen herself through ur-Gothoz's visions but had not put the two together until this moment. The elf looked at her with a twisted expression and she waved a hand disinterestedly. "Never mind, not important. Go on."

"Why can his kind never be satisfied?" spat Anomen. "Would it be enough even if he did get all he wanted?"

"Together he and Bodhi sought more than was possible. They wished for the power of the gods, and they were not concerned about the consequences. Irenicus sought to merge his essence with the divine Tree of Life, draining it and stealing its energy. He failed but there was a price to pay for the rest of us. We…"

"ASCENSION?!" Arowan screeched, looking suddenly as mad as she was. "IRENICUS SEEKS ASCENSION? NO! THAT CANNOT BE!"

For should he succeed, he would lift a piece of Bhaal's essence permanently from her grasp. The Numbing Potions would not permit her to care about the fates of the elves of Suldanessellar but she cared about this. She needed _all _of the pieces of her father including Sarevok's to claim his god powers for herself and detonate them.

"Where is he?" she asked, in a voice that resonated malice. The air around her seemed to turn cold. An aura of dark power emanated from her and Elhan took a step backward in alarm.

This dark ranger travelled with a drow, a half-orc and a man who he had reason to believe was Sarevok Anchev, butcher of Baldur's Gate. Under normal circumstances he would baulk to know that such a person walked their sacred lands, but these were not normal circumstances. If anyone could destroy Irenicus and liberate their home it was these people.

"You will need these," he said hastily, handing her some nuts. "Seeds of the Tree of Life."

Arowan handed them to Dorn. All but one. To the elf's horror she then tried to prise it open with her fingernails, failing that an arrowhead and when that didn't work, she stamped on it.

"What are you doing?" he howled.

"Just curious," Arowan replied idly, trying to grind it beneath her heel as Elhan whimpered. "It is not every day one gets to handle divine nuts."

"Stop crushing his nuts," rumbled Dorn, mildly amused. "You're upsetting him."

"In Menzoberranzan we actually had a machine for that," Viconia recalled, going misty eyed for a moment. "Our Matron Mother devised it after she caught a male assassin sneaking around her chambers. It was a sort of metal spider with gears. They placed his 'nuts' between the pincers, squeezed the back legs together like a pair of scissors and…"

"Enough!" Rasaad, Dorn, Anomen and Sarevok all said together. It was rare that these four could agree even on the colour of an orange, but not one of them wanted to hear the end of Viconia's description. Arowan made a mental note of it. The technique might come in handy later.

Elhan pointed them in the direction of the Tree of Life though his directions were hardly necessary. It was huge. The vast trees they had encountered in the forest of Tethir must be its saplings. As they walked, Arowan pulled a nut thoughtfully out of her pocket again and focussed on it. It was of divine origin. The little bit of power it contained might come in handy if she could drain it using necromancy…

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Dorn's hot, rancid breath burned on her ear. She glared at him malevolently.

"And why is that?"

"Because these contain divine essence from the Seldarine. Ingest it and they will know where you are at all times like a homing beacon. Even my master's power will not be enough to conceal you from them then. They will skewer you on your own bow!"

"I am curious," Arowan murmured, placing the nut back into her pocket. She made sure they were out of earshot of the others. "Why have a Servant of all Faiths at all? Why not just smite me?"

"They cannot see you, Little Lamb. My master has been shielding you since we first met."

"Why not smite me sooner? If they knew this was coming why not send a thunderbolt into my crib as a baby? End of problem."

Dorn shrugged, shifting his blackened armour.

"They did not know who you were," he replied simply. "How could they? Even _you_ didn't know who you were. It seemed likely that the Adversary would be a Bhaalspawn, but they had no way to know which one out of hundreds. Those in the know had their eyes on a few candidates. Sarevok, Freya, a dragon Bhaalspawn and a preachy monk named Balthazaar were the bookies' favourites. Plus a few others. But nobody even considered _you._"

"Why not smite us all?"

"To unleash the power of Bhaal's essence you must first collect all of it," Dorn explained. "The Adversary has got to be the last Bhaalspawn standing. Picking off Bhaalspawn indiscriminately would only speed that process up. Whoever the last survivor is will ascend, albeit temporarily, and detonate the essence."

They had reached a dead end. On a branch just beyond leaping distance something was there which clearly ought not to be. A podgy parasite resembling an ankheg, leeching sap from the branch like a suckling piglet.

"How do we get to it?" asked Anomen, readying himself for a fight.

"My nuts are getting excited," Dorn observed, pulling them from his pocket and running a thumb over them.

"Are you going to stand there stroking your nuts or shall we toss them?" Arowan asked. She may not be able to _feel _humour anymore but punning was a deeply ingrained habit.

They placed a nut on the branch and it grew rapidly into a new walkway. As the others charged forward to deal with the parasite, Arowan continued whispering to Dorn.

"And nobody thought of me…"

"…because nobody thought there was the remotest possibility that you'd be the last one standing," Dorn nodded. "All of their attention is fixed upon your more powerful siblings."

"Then how did the gods direct Viconia to me?" she asked.

"They didn't. They directed Viconia to _Freya,_" Dorn grinned. "But Gorion's spells and the creation of the chimera Imoen muddied the waters there."

"And how did Ur-Gothoz know?"

"He didn't, Little Lamb," Dorn replied almost pityingly. "He simply saw the potential and herded you into the position you now find yourself. The visions he sent you through the blades were not prophecies, they were suggestions for one possible outcome. In trying to prevent them coming true you brought them about. Because of them you chose to recruit Anomen."

She had been used and manipulated but was incapable of feeling angry about it. How and why they had come to this was a matter of curiosity, but it was not really important. She had little interest in what Dorn's motives were or why he was assisting her in what needed to be done. Only that he continued to do so.

* * *

* * *

When they reached the branch leading to Irenicus himself, Rasaad took Viconia's hands in his own. She found them shaking as her scarlet eyes locked with his. They were deep, soulful and loving. The Sharran found herself once more unable to resist him.

"This is no time for words Viconia, but I will speak nonetheless. I would be dead by now were it not for you. No, worse. I would be lost. You have given me direction and purpose where the gods offered me nothing but darkness and confusion."

Viconia smiled ruefully.

"I am a horrible excuse for a drow. If my sisters could see me melting so in the arms of a male, a rivvil male no less, they would boil me in spider venom. Yet with you it does not seem such a terrible thing."

"To say I love you is to state the obvious, but as you know, stating the obvious is a habit of mine. And I do, Viconia. I do love you in a way that I never imagined possible."

The wind rustled through the leaves of the Tree of Life as though the gods themselves were blessing their union. With a sigh she buried herself into his arms and he closed his eyes and stroked her silver hair, oblivious to anyone but them.

"You have protected me since I fled the Underdark, given me quarter and cared for me," she sighed, stroking her fingers over his swirling tattoos. "Though I offered you little but cruelty in return. It is the way of my people, but know that I would offer my last breath in your defence. I love you and always will."

He kissed her, she felt so warm and alive, and they remained there for what felt like an age. She pressed her hand against the broad muscles of his back oblivious to the rest of the party who had, in fact, gone on to fight Irenicus and were at this very moment cursing the pair of them and wondering where they were.

"I will see you through this Viconia, come what may," he promised her. "As you fulfil your destiny as the Servant of all Faiths and out the other side. We shall face the coming evil together. What is more I shall do so gladly, because I do it for you..."

"Oh Rasaad…"

"Oh Viconia…"

"OH FOR HELM'S SAKE! WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL TORIL ARE YOU TWO PLAYING AT?"

It was Anomen. He was pelting across the broad branch toward them, his face cut to ribbons, helmet lost and clutching a shattered arm. Monk and cleric sprang apart in alarm.

"_Anomen?"_

"Irenicus has almost fallen! Sarevok and Dorn have worn down his defences and Arowan is weaving some sort of necrotic disease over his body but I've run out of healing spells! Where the hells have you been?"

* * *

* * *

Rasaad and Viconia scrambled across the broad branches and deep-grooved bark just in time to witness Irenicus fall and to hear Ellesime, his one time lover, kneeling by his dying body to ask him if there was anything in his heart that remembered love?

"Is there nothing within you that remembers _our _love?" the beautiful elf queen pleaded. "What we once shared before this obsession doomed you?"

Arowan got the impression that had he given her the answer she wanted to hear he might, even now, be permitted to walk away. It was interesting and she made a note of it.

"I…" Irenicus's brow knotted. Then he shook his head. "I do not remember your love, Ellesime. I have tried. I have tried to recreate it, to spark it anew in my memory but it is gone. A hollow, dead thing."

Like a lurking rattlesnake, Arowan saw her chance and struck.

"Yes, you tried to recreate your love but it wasn't _just _in your memory was it? Hmm?" she asked silkily. Ellesime looked up at her sharply through her tears. "He made clones of you, living copies to toy with and torment. Imprisoned dryads to use as concubines for the same reason…"

"No! That cannot be true!" the elf queen cried angrily.

"It is true," Irenicus croaked from the ground, unable to resist hurting her one last time. Poisoning her memories of their time together was the very last piece of control over her he had.

Ellesime stood up and backed away, hands clasped to her mouth, shaking her head in disbelief. Arowan, conversely, hunkered down and put her lips very close to the place where Irenicus's ears had once been. He turned his ruined face to her.

"Are you…?" he croaked, but he didn't need an answer. He could tell from her expression. The mage had lived for months with Arowan on Numbing Potions and he recognized the difference instantly.

His cold eyes found Sarevok's glowing ones and, inexplicably to the other man, he started to laugh. Irenicus knew that it was over, but the group who had finally vanquished him had a poisonous spider in their midst.

"Why don't you tell her about Imoen?" she suggested, looking slyly at Ellesime and backing away.

And tell her he did, in excruciating detail. Had the ranger been able to feel anything, she would have found it harrowing. He told Ellesime things that the immortal queen could never forget or unhear, and in doing so tarnished every memory she had cherished of their lives before.

"Terrible," Arowan tutted. "And whose fault is it?"

"Jon's fault," Ellesime whispered brokenly.

"_Your fault!" _the ranger corrected her.

The elf gasped audibly, but Arowan had her prey where she wanted her and was going in for the kill.

"Your fault! Jonaleth had no soul, no feelings, you stripped him of everything that made him himself and left him with no more agency than the undead!"

It was a state of being that the ranger knew all too well, though she was not speaking from sympathy. Guilt had always been her overriding emotion. It was the one she understood and knew how to manipulate better than any other. She would use it to crack Ellesime open and bend her to her will!

"You thought you were being merciful by punishing him this way instead of killing him, but you were being selfish! It was not for his benefit that you condemned him to this existence but for your own!"

"No!" Ellesime objected. "I thought that… I hoped that… He could have used his mortal years to _earn_ his return to this sacred place! I could have loved you anew Jon, as I loved the man you once were."

"Exactly! You knew he couldn't carry on as part of your people, but you couldn't let him go!" Arowan ripped on savagely. "All that your people suffered, all that he did to those women he imprisoned, all of it was so that _you _could have your lover back. You are unfit to lead your people."

"What are you saying?" cried Rasaad, but Ellesime did not disagree with Arowan's harsh appraisal.

The elf's pale blue eyes swam with tears. Her power came from divine heritage and celestial magic but she had (it was as clear to Arowan as it had been to Jonaleth) no power of will whatsoever. It made her a soft victim for those who would seek to control her.

"What can I do?" she pleaded.

Arowan smiled.

However, at that moment, Irenicus inconsiderately interrupted their conversation by dying. As with Bodhi, a curious apparition rose from the body and Sarevok found himself pulled toward it. He was being drawn irresistibly to where the mage fell, for he was still connected to his stolen soul even though it was no longer amongst the living.

"No not again!" he howled, grabbing onto the nearest two people; Arowan and Viconia. "I refuse to go back to the Abyss! No, no, no!"

With a roar, Dorn snatched the ranger's arm with almost as great an urgency as Rasaad seized Viconia's. Sarevok was being dragged once more into the Abyss and they were all pulled in with him, except for Anomen who flopped to his knees, bewildered and alone with Ellesime in the branches of the Tree of Life.

Their reaction to finding themselves in a hellscape was less extreme than one might expect, but of course one Bhaalspawn could feel nothing and the other had lived here for many seasons. Dorn had volunteered for an eternity in hell under the service of Ur-Gothoz, while Rasaad and Viconia had been with Freya into Avernus. And speak of the devil…

"Good gods!" breathed Viconia through thick clouds of sulphur that enveloped them, "Is that…?"


	60. Persuasion

"We are not dead," Sarevok said with certainty. "We're in the Abyss, but we are not dead. If we were, I would know it."

"No, you're not dead Sarevok," growled a familiar voice. "Although you will bloody well wish you were by the time I get through with you!"

Sarevok froze, rigid, and then turned around very slowly to see what Rasaad and Viconia were staring at. It was the first time since Irenicus stole his soul that the others had seen him show fear. A vast, skinless wolf, bone and muscle exposed was squaring up to him. Its lipless skull grinned hideously, its lidless grey eyes swivelled in their crimson sockets. With every step the beast sweated blood.

Viconia gripped Rasaad's hand, and he squeezed hers tightly, for they both knew what this apparition was. It snarled at Sarevok, who seemed almost frozen, too petrified to move. Just as it bent its back legs ready to spring at him, Rasaad swallowed his horror and found his voice.

"_Freya?_"

The wolf's manner changed immediately. Her ears pricked up and her eyes turned to Rasaad. Without warning he found himself bowled over, and he screamed, expecting death. But death did not come. Only a long, wet, pungent tongue slurping his face so enthusiastically it was as if she were trying to lick his tattoos off.

"Urgh, Selune's light! I do believe your breath has gotten worse!"

Freya sprang off of him and bounded to Viconia, tail wagging and tongue lolling. The hideous monstrosity had switched in an instant from petrifying to kind of _goofy_.

"Hey there Chosen One!" the wolf said. How exactly she was speaking was unclear, having neither lips nor human vocal cords. She wasn't even moving her jaws, and yet the sound was emerging from somewhere in her front. "Is Arowan taking good care of you?"

"Not particularly," Viconia replied sniffily. "She is here to atone for murdering Imoen, and attempting to murder Sarevok."

"Did you really?" Freya cried, only half-disapprovingly. "I mean Imoen I knew about, obviously, since she turned up here as soon as you did it. That was a dick move Arowan, but she forgives you. Hells I can even forgive you for failing to take out Sarevok. We can do it together now that he's here."

She bounced on all four legs enthusiastically like a puppy whose owner had just waved a frisbee under its nose. Sarevok inched backward.

"Wait!" he cried.

"You say that every time!" Freya grumbled, pawing the blighted ground, "And then I wait, and it's never anything good. At least when Skie gave that command she used to scratch my ears afterward."

"No, look!" the Bhaalspawn pointed. "See! Irenicus! Remember him? Killed your wife? Flayed you alive? Go get him! Fetch!"

The shade of the mage had been keeping very quiet and still but as soon as she noticed him, the vast wolf momentarily forgot all about Sarevok.

"I had no choice, you forced me to do it!" Irenicus tried to sound authoritative but his voice was rising higher with each pad of her fleshless paws. "You cannot defeat me! I will take what is mine and leave this place. Begone shade!"

"Not a chance," the wolf grinned. Having no lips, technically she was always grinning, but right now she looked as though she meant it. "You might have defeated me, Eric and Arowan but the three of us together? I think not."

Irenicus's eyes darted around in panic. All of the veins sticking out from his heavily lined face began pulsating at once. The shades of Eric and Imoen were emerging from the rancid mist of the Abyss. The necromancer looked as emaciated and pale in death as he had in life, though at least a little cleaner. Imoen's pink hair contrasted oddly with her sallow brother, but there was none of her usual light-heartedness as she looked at Irenicus.

"If you recall Freya, I did suggest such an alliance at the time," Arowan said archly. "If you had listened to me instead of insisting on having Eric hanged, we might have avoided all this."

"You have a point but you also kind of spoiled my entrance," Eric rebuked her.

"Sorry."

His grey eyes, flecked with green flickered for a moment in her direction. Arowan hastily shoved his ring into her pocket. Eric was highly intelligent and well attuned to the effects of Numbing Potions having been an addict himself. She resolved to fight with her bow instead of his ring and not draw any more attention to herself.

The fight was a short one. Irenicus was a newcomer here, whereas the Bhaalspawn were used to exercising their powers in the Abyss. It was not quite the same. The weave behaved subtly differently here, a bit like a grass-court tennis player suddenly switching to tarmac. He raised his arm to make an incantation, only to scream as Freya's jaws clamped down and _ripped. _Eric immobilized him and quite artfully took a dagger to his eye while Imoen, who was less imaginative in the art of violence, pelted magic missiles at him.

"You think this is bad, Irenicus?" Freya growled, "You've not spent any time with preteen Bhaalspawn. Wait till you see what my puppies come up with. They're creative little things when they get bored… and trust me they are _always _bored."

Finally Sarevok came and pressed their father's sword against Irenicus's heart. No sooner had the blade pierced the shade than his soul was released. He roared in triumph as he felt his strength returning to him, along with power over this place. His mortal body called to him on the surface, but he wanted to know what would happen to the man who'd had the gall to rob him of his essence.

"All three of us had the opportunity to live under your nurturing care," Eric smiled wickedly. He stroked a strand of lank, black hair between finger and thumb. "It seems only polite to return the courtesy."

"Eventually we'll boot you out to face justice from your own gods," growled Freya, dropping his arm and drooling with savage anticipation. "But first we invite you to stay and experience _our_ hospitality, Jon."

"No," he croaked, as Freya and Eric advanced on him.

"Oh, but we insist," smirked Eric.

Irenicus tried to run but there was nowhere to go. In desperation he sank to his knees and made a plea to his own gods. He had offended the Seldarine as no elf in history, but surely they would not leave one of their children subject to the wrath of the human god of murder!

"The elf-gods can't hear you here, this is Bhaal's domain!" Freya gloated. "We have so much catching up to do. Say, you enjoy experiments, don't you? Want to know what it feels like to be skinned alive?"

With a grunt of willpower she forced herself into the form she had taken in life; the great golden wolf. Rasaad's heart lifted momentarily but it was a state she could not hold for more than a few seconds at a time. She released her skin and it pooled around her ankles, before vanishing. Imoen whimpered.

"And the best part," Freya snarled, restoring and dropping her skin over and over to demonstrate her point, "Is that you won't die! We can do it again... and again... and again..."

"Arowan!" Irenicus wailed, "You are an Ilmatari! You cannot let them!"

The numb ranger watched her enemy plead with mute indifference.

"Arrow doesn't care," observed Freya.

"Trapped and helpless," sneered Eric, running a finger over Irenicus's jawline. "And when Freya and I grow bored with you, there are hundreds more of us. Some of the children of the Lord of Murder embraced their heritage far more enthusiastically than we ever did, and it has been _so long_ since they had a victim to practise on."

"Imoen!" screamed Irenicus. "Imoen please!"

"You dare to call to _me_?" she thundered. "You dare to beg for _my_ mercy? FEEL MY PAIN!"

At once Irenicus started to wail. At least his lips were moving and noise was coming out, but it was not his own voice. Instead it was Imoen's. He was repeating the desperate pleading and crying she had let out in his dungeon while she begged him to leave her alone. She was making him experience it as she had. The fear, the terror, the loneliness…

Even for a skinless dog and a borderline psychopath it was a bit much. Eric and Freya recoiled.

"Fucking hell, I'm not listening to this again!" barked Freya. Eric agreed. He focussed on the ground beneath Irenicus's body and caused a rift to appear in the red earth. The mage toppled into it, still screaming with Imoen's voice, and the Bhaalspawn sealed it above him like a grave. Freya sniffed at it and shook her broad muzzle at Imoen's ghost. "That was bloody horrible! I guess we'll check on him in a year or two, see if it's worn off."

She yawned and padded over to Sarevok, who drew his sword warily, but the wolf seemed to have lost her appetite for disembowelling him.

"You mean to go back?" she sighed and was answered with an emphatic nod. "You know this is only a temporary reprieve, right? You're going to have to become one with us again eventually."

"I believe…" Sarevok took a deep, shuddering breath. "I believe that I may learn to accept that someday, sister. But not today."

The wolf chewed it over.

"I know what you mean," she sighed. "I'm still not ready either. Not really, and not just because of that divine debt I owe the Silvershields. There was stuff I wanted to do, you know?"

"I know," affirmed Rasaad sadly.

"I wanted a family… I wanted to teach my kids how to hunt squirrels and…"

"You were a terrible hunter. I bet you never caught a squirrel in your life!" Viconia said fondly, patting her slimy skinless head. It really wasn't so bad once you got used to it. "Running headlong into a tree trunk, then barking for hours on end at its branches, is a skill the next generation will just have to cope without."

"Farewell then. For now," Sarevok said.

"Give me a minute!" snapped Freya impatiently. She turned back to Rasaad, Viconia and Arowan. Dorn could not help but notice, with irritation, that she was _still _keeping her nose tilted as far away from him as possible. "Listen, there's some stuff I need to warn you about first. It's not that I'm not pleased to see you guys but keeping the Servant of all Faiths safe ought to be the priority. You should never have dragged her into this!"

"So you dead things have been saying for a long time," replied Viconia. "But all I get is cryptic dribs and drabs. Instead of hints and clues perhaps you'd care to tell me in plain common what this prophecy is all about?"

"You mean Sarevok hasn't already?"

"No!"

Viconia suddenly felt rather foolish. Of course, Sarevok knew things about the prophecy. They had known since before Freya died that the Bhaalspawn in the Abyss had an insight. Why had it not occurred to her to ask him? And why had he never volunteered the information?

Freya growled softly. She began stalking Sarevok in a predatory way. "You didn't warn them? Now that is interesting. I wonder why that might be?"

"It isn't me!" Sarevok said stiffly. He turned to Viconia and added beseechingly, "It isn't me, I swear it!"

"Then why didn't you tell them?" barked Freya.

"What isn't you?" demanded Viconia.

"The Great Evil," Freya replied. "The Adversary. The one you were chosen to defeat."

"How could he be?" puzzled Rasaad. "Sarevok is no demon, though he may be as evil as one."

"The Great Evil isn't a demon, Rasaad," she growled. "It's one of _us. _A Bhaalspawn. Bhaal's last surviving child, whoever they are, will try to ascend. If they succeed, they will destroy every evilly aligned person in the world, by burning up his essence all in one go, obliterating Bhaal in the process. The problem is that the gods don't know _which Bhaalspawn_. My money is on Sarevok, since he kept this from you."

She snapped her teeth at him, and he took a step back.

"Then why don't the gods kill all the Bhaalspawn?" asked Viconia.

"Because the last one they get around to will become divine and destroying gods is not straightforward," Sarevok sighed. "Our very existence is proof of that. The gods will stay their hands until they are certain that they have found the one."

"That would be you, Sarevok," said Freya, simply.

"No!" Sarevok bellowed at Viconia. "I knew that you would think that, which is why I didn't tell you! But it isn't me, I swear!"

"Presumably the only way they could really know for sure," Arowan's voice cut over them, "Is when all the other Bhaalspawn are dead, and the Adversary becomes a divine being."

"Exactly," said the skinless wolf. "Which is why they created their champion. When the time comes, Viconia, each god will imbue you with a portion of their power. Their combined efforts should be enough to allow a mortal to slay the Great Evil. Then, with the death of the last Bhaalspawn, Bhaal will return." She wagged her tail appreciatively sending blood drops flicking like scarlet rain. "So hurry up! I can't _wait _to be a god."

"Do you know how we can return to the mortal world?" Arowan demanded.

"Yeah, you have to think really hard about the location you want to get to and then jump as high as you can," Freya explained, "And raise your arms up as you go into a sort of pointy shape."

Sarevok narrowed his golden eyes and concentrated so determinedly that it made him look a bit constipated. Then he took a deep breath and jumped, pointing his arms in an elegant loop above his head. It wasn't enough. He pictured the branches of the Tree of Life in his head and once more launched himself as high as he could go. Again and again he jumped like a deranged ballerina.

It wasn't until the eighth jump that he noticed that Freya was laughing at him.

"You don't know how to return me to the mortal plane do you?"

"Not a sodding clue," she laughed. "Sorry guys, I couldn't resist fucking with him."

"Arsehole," Sarevok muttered.

"Perhaps meditation techniques can re-establish our links with our bodies," Rasaad suggested. "I am going to close my eyes and focus on my own."

He did so, imagining himself lying in the embrace of the Tree of Life and willing himself back. The monk was highly familiar with his own form, having spent all his life perfecting it, and he thought his way from toe to top, imagining every sinew.

So intense was his focus that he didn't notice the wolf silently padding up to him, extending her cold, wet nose toward his ear…

"ARRRGGH!"

_Squeak! Squeak! Squeak!_

Viconia was laughing mercilessly. In his surprise, the monk lashed out and karate chopped Freya in the throat, making the giant mutt cough. He was not sorry in the slightest. That was a horrible trick his former party leader had played on him and not one of the others had stepped in to stop her.

"So much for 'I would offer my last breath in your defence,'" muttered Rasaad to Viconia as he tried to mop the dog slobber out of his ear with his shirt.

"Would you now?" The wolf would have blinked in surprise if she'd still had any eyelids to blink with. She glanced from Viconia to Arowan and back again. "Been a bit of a change of the guard has there?"

"Viconia and I are… erm…" Rasaad began.

"Doing the dance with no pants?" Freya filled in for him. "Waving the purple wand? Watering the weeds?"

"That last one doesn't even make sense!" he wailed, turning scarlet.

"Yeah well, Coran came up with them, what do you expect?" laughed the wolf. Then she hunkered down onto her haunches and whined. "Um… if you do happen to run into him and Safana can you tell them…"

"Safana is dead and Coran is out of his mind with grief!" Sarevok declared triumphantly.

There was nothing Freya could do about this and telling her was his revenge for all the times she had feasted on his entrails.

Few people living knew more about Bhaal lore than he did, and he had just figured out how to escape the Abyss for himself. He threw all his force of will into living, existing, returning to his own body and with what felt like a rushing gale they were catapulted back into life, leaving Freya howling behind them.

Arowan opened her eyes to see the concerned faces of Elhan, Ellesime and Demin. They were peering over Sarevok's body. He opened his eyes painfully and they all squatted about him. Dorn was still holding onto her. Her cold brown eyes flickered pointedly to Irenicus's stricken body and the Blackguard nodded. He was to cause a diversion.

"So it is you!" Dorn declared loudly, pointing a thick finger at Sarevok and drawing all attention away from the ranger and the body she intended to loot.

"No!" Sarevok answered. "I am not the Adversary, I swear it! Servant of all Faiths, I swear it!"

Although the elves had heard the prophecies just like everybody else, this required some explaining. As the three of them listened with rapt attention, Arowan calmly slipped past them and began stripping Irenicus of his belongings as discretely as she could.

She had no more space for rings but the amulet and ioun stone he wore would enhance her capabilities further. The robe she promptly put on before anybody else could lay claim to it and was just in the process of removing his boots when Ellesime noticed what she was up to.

"I have suffered immeasurably at the hands of this man," she told the elf queen coldly. "Both of my parents are dead, my siblings are dead, my husband is dead. Do not demand that I treat his remains with deference."

"No, no of course not," Ellesime replied quietly. "I… I believe that belt he is wearing blesses the user with greatly enhanced endurance. In fact, I know it. It was a gift to him from me."

"Did you give it to him before he was cursed?" Arowan asked. Ellesime's guilty eyes swam with tears. "No… you gave it to him after, didn't you? The Seldarine would have seen his body disintegrated long before he lost his mind, but you strengthened him. You wanted to make sure he survived. You dreamed that he would return to you someday. Well, he did."

"Is this necessary?" Rasaad asked repressively. "It is over now. What is done is done."

"It _is _necessary," Arowan replied pleasantly. As she unclipped the belt she noticed a glint of metal creeping out of a dagger sheath. Startled, she dropped the artefact immediately. It was the closest she could feel to genuine alarm for she had almost allowed the blade to graze her. If she had, even so much as a nick, it would have robbed her of her soul. "So that's where that went! Well I'll be damned."

The others shuffled around curiously. Arowan unsheathed the dagger more carefully and held it up to the light. It was a strange design and pulsed with inner warmth. Though its core was deathly black, illuminations danced near the surface.

"By the gods!" Demin cried. "Did his wickedness know no limits at all?"

Arowan was peering deep into the gemstone, like a moth drawn to flame. Fleeting anguished faces (and for some reason a bumblebee) flickered in and out of focus but one figure remained constant. A doe-eyed dancer performing the same pirouette over and over.

"What is it?" Ellesime hardly dared to ask.

"Soultaker," Arowan replied, fascinated. "I do believe that I am looking into the soul of Skie Silvershield. Or at least some manifestation of it."

"We must destroy this dagger, and free her at once!" declared Ellesime, horrified. She looked to Demin, who held out her hand for it.

"No…" Arowan replied icily. It was a powerful artefact and one she might find a use for later, whether by threatening someone with it or if she needed to harvest a soul for some reason. No sense letting it go to waste. She sheathed it. "No. Skie's body is still alive. The clerics in Baldur's Gate believe that with this dagger they may be able to restore her. We should at least try."

She had no real intention of trying. It was not necessary. Skie was not important.

"Very well, go to Baldur's Gate when we part ways and try to revive her," Viconia rolled her ruby eyes. "Only you would go to such lengths for someone who threw you into a prison cell for weeks on end. Limpet-minded rivvil!"

'_Trusts me so implicitly, she doesn't know she trusts me at all,' _Arowan thought. She smiled at Dorn as if to say, _'See?'_

"What should we do with Sarevok?" asked Arowan innocently.

Ellesime hesitated.

"Lock him up for now," she said. "I don't know whether he is telling the truth. His track record is against him but we shall discover the truth. If the sages survived they will tell us once they have had a chance to recuperate."

* * *

* * *

There was a ceremony. Their elven hosts wished to show their appreciation to their saviours. During the preparations, Arowan kept Dorn on a short leash and forbade him from speaking at the feast. He was pleased and intrigued, however, to watch how she put his gift to use.

Now he understood why his patron had wanted her to have high charisma. The ranger was all smiles and affability. She spoke knowledgably with the elves about woodland critters and flora. Yet woven into her words were subtle hints of persuasion.

It was so _open-minded _and _brave _of them to host a drow after everything that had happened.

Did they know much about Shar? Why? Oh, no reason. She's a step up from the Spider Queen, Viconia must be given credit for that. Did she once worship Lolth? Oh yes. She _says_ she's given it up.

But Arowan saved her master-stroke for Elhan.

"Why do you all feel such guilt over this?" she asked, when he spoke once more about his people's shame. "You are the victims. It is not your fault you were attacked by a mad drow."

"The drow helped but their leader, Jonaleth, was one of us," the elf captain frowned. His friends sagged around him, hung their heads and looked deeply embarrassed.

"But as I understand it," she wheedled slyly, "Irenicus was an elf who rejected the values of your people, embraced evil and ended up living underground?"

"I suppose…"

"Well, isn't that what a drow _is?_"

"Yes… Yes, I believe you are right!"

This notion proved exceedingly popular. Within hours, the recent history of Suldanessellar was sanitized in a most satisfactory way. The elves bore no shame or responsibility because Irenicus was not one of them but a drow! Of course he was! He was just a more _recent _drow than the silver-haired ones.

Ellesime's speech of thanks droned on and on, extolling the virtues of every member of the party in turn. However, the applause that followed each accolade was noticeably lacklustre when she got to Viconia. The drow noticed and began fidgeting uneasily, acutely aware that she was in a city of her ancestral enemies.

"…as for the man whom we once knew as Jonaleth all I can say is that he died a long time ago. He lives in my memory still."

The elf queen's continued naiveite beggared belief. Arowan smiled to herself. Her weakness was hers to exploit now. Ellesime took an embroidered lace handkerchief and daintily wiped the tears from her eyes.

"To the man he became, the exile Irenicus, he who performed atrocities on you, the Tree of Life and his former people… to him, I can only send my prayer that he found the peace in death that he never found in life."

"No," replied Arowan indifferently.

"N- no?"

"No, he did not find any peace!" the ranger declared, standing up. "And neither will Suldanessellar. Not so long as the drow he led go unpunished. How many centuries will it take this city to recoup their numbers? This war has barely dented the strength of Urst Natha. The destruction of the last few days is only the start. They will be back."

She strode to stand beside Ellesime as she spoke. Anomen opened his mouth to warn them about the Numbing Potions, but suddenly found the tip of Rancor digging painfully into his flank. Dorn grinned at him nastily.

"What are you doing Arowan?" Viconia hissed. "Keep talking like this and you'll spark a war!"

The ranger looked over her shoulder and smiled like a reptile.

"I do hope so Viconia."

There was nothing left in those cold, brown eyes. No pity, no feeling except the lingering embers of her hatred for Viconia. Even Numbing Potions could not totally snuff them out. The drow paled, red eyes wide, as though seeing her rival for the first time.

"It is you!" she breathed. "Shar curse you, _you _are the Great Evil!"

But it was too late. Arowan had sewn the seeds of mistrust against Viconia with great care and they were sprouting quickly. Besides, she was a drow in a darthiir court, which put her rival at an insurmountable advantage.

"Wait!" Ellesime cried, trying ineffectively to bring calm to the room, but the sound of her people muttering in agreement with Arowan was like a swarm of angry bees. "Surely the last thing our city needs is more bloodshed?"

"Don't be a fool again!" Arowan rounded on her, projecting her voice so that even the people at the back could hear her. "It was your mercy last time, to the drow leader Irenicus, that led to this catastrophe. You owe it to your people not to make the same mistake twice!"

"Do not listen to her she is the Adversary!" Viconia cried.

"The Adversary is locked in a cage awaiting trial," Arowan replied. "Sarevok will pay for his crimes."

"It's not him, it's you!" howled Viconia.

"You're only saying that now that I am advocating retribution against Urst Natha," replied Arowan. "I think you are still a true drow at heart. Clearly your loyalty lies with them."

There was a round of angry murmuring and not for the first time, Viconia found herself the object of a mob's ill-will. Rasaad took a hold of her and pulled her away. He wanted to go back for Anomen, who was unable to follow due to Dorn's sword at his flank, but it was more important to get the drow out of the way.

"You're leading us deeper into the palace!" Viconia panicked.

They found themselves in a very beautiful room which had they ever been given the tour of Irenicus's dungeon, they would have recognized as Ellesime's bedchamber. It was semi-enclosed in a hollow in the Tree of Life. Branches of leaves crisscrossed above their heads.

The bed seemed to have been fashioned out of the living wood of the Tree of Life and all of the furniture was exquisite. It put the Ducal Palace and drow notions of luxury to shame. Drow tended not to have the energy to put into fine craftsmanship. It wasn't that they didn't appreciate such luxuries, but they were too busy backstabbing each other to put in the effort.

"Ellesime will not hurt us, not after we saved Suldanessellar," he panted, "But I do not trust that crowd. We should be safe to wait for her here. Then we can clear all this up."

* * *

* * *

Back in the ceremony hall, Ellesime was still dithering. The Charisma Ring was working its magic, but that alone was not enough. Without Viconia to distract them and with the sound of an increasingly riled elf army to drown out her words, Arowan made the elf queen an offer she could not refuse.

"Jonaleth suffers immeasurably," she told her, "He is trapped in the Abyss, subject to the cruellest punishments that the fragments of Bhaal can devise."

"Oh no," sobbed Ellesime. "No…"

"But there is hope," she reassured her. "_I _am a Bhaalspawn and will eventually become part of Bhaal. And I swear to you that when that day comes I shall intervene on his behalf. I will see to it that he is released from the Abyss."

"You… you promise?"

"Under geas if you like," smiled Arowan kindly.

It was an easy promise to keep, for once she detonated the essence, Irenicus's torment at Bhaalspawn hands would come to an instantaneous end. There would be no Bhaal left to torture him.

"Thank you," whispered Ellesime, her eyes swimming with gratitude, and Arowan knew that she had her.

Ellesime would turn any mental cartwheel to deceive herself when it came to Jonaleth, and the Servant of all Faiths could not offer him deliverance. Whatever Arowan's instructions, the insipid elf would follow them, convincing herself that it was for the greater good.

When Viconia and Rasaad heard footsteps approaching it was not the elf queen but Arowan and Dorn, shoving Anomen roughly along with them. The cleric had been disarmed and gagged to prevent him from casting spells. They were accompanied by Elhan and a large number of guard. The monk spotted them coming from around the corner and hastily hid with Viconia behind the pale blue hangings of Ellesime's tree bed.

Arowan followed one branch leading off from the bedchamber in search of her caged brother, leaving Dorn and the guards behind. Rasaad noticed that she had notched an arrow and nudged Viconia.

"No doubt she means to murder him!" Viconia whispered. "We have to do something!"

"Why?" muttered Rasaad, a hint of envy creeping into his voice. He did not like Sarevok and her constant admiring glances in his direction did not help.

"Because he'll be a useful ally!" she replied. "And because the Adversary wants him dead. Isn't that in itself a good enough reason to keep him alive?"

"Very well," the monk agreed.

Arowan was the Great Evil. It had never occurred to him until now, and yet the revelation did not surprise him as it should. Perhaps it was the murders of Imoen and Mazzy Fentan. Or her hateful behaviour toward him these past few months. Whatever the reason, there was no denying that she had changed beyond recognition.

Yet surely the real Arowan was still in there somewhere, buried beneath her pain and madness. Part of Rasaad grieved the loss of the Ilmatari he had once known. Shy, loyal and kind to a fault. Even now, he thought, there might be some way to bring her back from the precipice as he had failed to do with Gamaz. After all, he was partly responsible for getting her to this point. There must be some way to reason with her!

Cautiously he climbed onto the top of Ellesime's tree bed, pulling Viconia up behind him, and they scuttled along the branches like a pair of squirrels. Below them, Anomen tried to escape Dorn's clutches but it was no use. He was weaker than the half-orc, gagged and disarmed. Rasaad could not imagine how they were going to free him, but unlike Sarevok he did not seem to be in any immediate danger. One problem at a time.


	61. The Power of Love

"You!" Sarevok cried.

"Calm yourself brother, I have come to free you."

She unlocked the cage and Sarevok stumbled out, still holding Bhaal's sword. He brushed himself off, golden eyes shining, saw them reflected in her own and winced. They had been useful for impressing followers in Baldur's Gate, but the golden glow was irreversible and now he was regretting the eyes as a fashion statement. With Arowan hanging around, everyone knew that he'd chosen to make his eyes shine like this which, frankly, made him come across as a bit of a plonker. Still she had freed him, and that was something.

"Where are the others?" he asked.

Arowan adjusted her gloves, tugging gently on the fingertips. They were brand new, a gift from the elf queen. White silk with swirling designs delicately picked out in gold thread. The contrast between them and the blood-stained dark robe of Irenicus was striking, but both objects were charmed to enhance her capabilities.

"They didn't want to help me," she replied regretfully. "Except for Dorn of course, but he's busy looking after Anomen."

"It isn't me," Sarevok said, looking into her eyes. His sincerity was clear. "Sister, I know how it must look but I swear that I am not the Adversary."

Arowan smiled wanly.

"I believe you, brother."

At first he sighed with relief but this was swiftly followed by a surge of dread. Something about her cold empty smile was very wrong, and when she said she believed that he wasn't the one she sounded far too sure. They both acted at once.

Her hostile spell struck empty air.

There was a crunching rustle as he smashed through the leafy canopy, followed seconds later by an almighty crash. Arowan hissed and scampered to the edge of the branch to peer through the hole her brother had punched through the leaves when he pitched himself from the Tree of Life.

Far, far below she could just make out light glinting from his motionless armour. He was probably dying, but no harm in helping him along. She drew a fire arrow from her quiver and notched it. Shooting down instead of forward from this distance was something she had rarely had opportunity or cause to practise. A sapling was partly obscuring her view and the branch she stood on was swaying slightly beneath her feet. Even for Arowan this was a difficult shot.

Half-buried in the leaf litter, Sarevok reached for a healing potion. Every move was agony, there wasn't a rib in his chest that hadn't broken from the fall. An ordinary man would have died, but he was not ordinary, especially now that his essence had been restored and the enchantments on his equipment had lessened his injuries somewhat.

His left arm would not move, so he held the bottle to his mouth and uncorked it with his teeth. From high above, a fire arrow whistled, striking the ground inches from his head. Some of the dead leaves began to curl and burn.

Sarevok swallowed the potion and rolled over. Through a gap in the trees he saw the black outline of Arowan, blocking out the sun. Her face lit up for a fraction of a second, telling him that she had another fire arrow with his name on it. This one struck the ground where he had been lying a moment before.

With the aid of a second potion, he recovered enough to hurl himself toward the trunk of a nearby tree. More arrows, fired in quick succession were lighting up the ground around him but he was out of her line of sight now, blocked by branches and leaves of smaller trees. The odds of her hitting him from this height were tiny. She could try coming down the tree, but by then he'd be long gone.

"_Braconidae, mortis, fero!"_

The ground began to move under him like it was alive. Sarevok found it writhing with dead, no, _undead_ insects, worms and slimy things. They surged toward him but using Bhaal's sword he battered them, squashing dozens at a time.

"You'll have to do better than that sister… Urgh!"

They were crawling, oozing and flying up his pants and into his eyes. Tiny mandibles were biting in obscene places. In the absence of a poisonous spider or a handy dead scorpion he doubted she had enough here to kill him but things were going to get seriously painful if he didn't move soon. Cursing, he turned and fled.

* * *

* * *

High up in the branches of the Tree of Life, Arowan slammed the door of Sarevok's empty cage so that it clattered on its hinges.

"Blast!"

"Exactly the sort of sloppy incompetence I have come to expect from you, rivvil."

Arowan froze.

"Hello Viconia."

"You should have shot him in the cage. What did you let him out for?"

"There's no way I'd be able to clean his glitter out of the grooves in this tree bark," Arowan answered in a voice like ice cracking. "If I'd successfully shot him out of the tree, he'd have dusted on the way down and Ellesime would believe he had escaped."

She turned around slowly. Viconia had her flaming sword drawn and Rasaad was at her shoulder looking murderous. The pair ought to be on the cover of Adventurers Weekly selling discount bracers, Arowan mused. He with his bulging muscles and dramatic tattoos. She with her statuesque posture and cascading silver locks. Their vanity was really something.

"Arowan, do not do this!" Rasaad panted.

"Where's Dorn? Did you kill him?"

She didn't sound particularly concerned.

Viconia tried to put a clerical spell on her, but Dorn's master shielded Arowan from the sight of the gods and nothing happened. The ranger retaliated by dispelling the buffers the Sharran had put upon herself and Rasaad. Fearing for his lover's life, the monk raced forward, attempted a jump-kick and howled in pain.

The dragon-fire scars on his legs were twisting and blackening. Here and there they opened up in oozing red sores as Arowan worked her necrotic magic. He tried to fight on but found that he could not stand on them and collapsed.

"You cannot defeat me, I am the Servant of all Faiths!" screamed Viconia.

"True," conceded Arowan, "But I can certainly defeat Rasaad here."

There was a rushing of feet. Anomen had finally broken free of Dorn and was racing to stop Arowan, with the half-orc close behind him. He seemed surprised to see that Rasaad and Viconia had slipped past them and the guards but he wasted no time in speaking.

"Don't trust her, she's on Numbing Potions!" he cried. "It's my fault… it's my fault… I did this."

"Numbing potions?" Rasaad cried. This explained everything. "Arowan how could you do this? After everything Jaheira and Yoshimo went through to get you off of them! I know you were in terrible pain over their deaths but you didn't have to-"

"I didn't. Anomen did," she replied, pulling off a glove and inspecting her fingernails idly. "I was unconscious at the time. Don't blame the boy, Dorn tricked him into it. He thought he was acting for the best."

"She was going to kill herself!" Anomen howled, looking to Rasaad and Viconia beseechingly. Yet even if they punished him with death now, it would be worth it to stop Arowan.

"That's true, I was." The ranger sounded almost amused.

All the while they had been talking, her curse continued to poison Rasaad. The veins running from his stricken legs were bulging and turning an alarming shade of purple as the affliction spread to the rest of his body.

"Stop it!" cried Viconia. The ranger ignored her. "Stop it, let him go!"

Arowan paid no attention. Then the drow did something that astonished them all. She unsummoned her sword and put down her weapons. The ranger stared at her as though she had gone mad and Rasaad yelped in protest, but Viconia knew what she was doing. She walked slowly out toward her rival, who did not stop her.

"Please," Viconia said softly. She took the ranger's freckled hand. Somewhere in there, under the Numbing Potions, the real Arowan was buried and somehow she had to get through to her. Rasaad's life depended upon it. "You don't want to do this. I know you're still there and I know you."

"I…"

"You loved this man once, as I do," the drow continued. "Even if you can no longer feel love, surely you still remember it?"

Arowan thought and a troubled expression crossed her face. There had been a time when Rasaad's friendship had meant everything to her. She would have done anything to save him, and she remembered the feeling vividly. Meeting him in the forest of Nashkel, falling in love at a fairground, their first kiss in Baldur's Gate. It was all so long ago but some things were too powerful to simply forget.

"I… I do remember it…" she confessed quietly, lowering her eyes. "Even though we are no longer together Rasaad, I still respect what we once had."

"As do I," he replied gently.

Viconia smiled at her encouragingly. She would much prefer to snap Arowan's neck, but she had meant what she'd said to Rasaad about defending him with her last breath. His life depended on her persuading the rivvil brat back into the light.

"There's still a choice. You can turn from this course. I will help you, all I ask is that you trust me, as I had to trust you when I was alone and fleeing the Underdark."

The ranger's eyes turned to Rasaad, her hands shaking.

"Please Arowan," the monk croaked from the floor. "Do not begin a war. This isn't what you want, not really."

Finally, she nodded and lifted the curse from him. His legs returned back to their scarred but healthy state and the horrible veins calmed. Blood returned to his lower half and the monk gasped in relief as his pain subsided. While Viconia rushed to heal him, Arowan broke down sobbing on the wide branch.

"Oh gods!" she whispered. "What did I almost do?"

Dorn stared at them, aghast, as Anomen skidded to her side and held her close to his chest. She buried her face into his breastplate, weeping.

"It is over now," the Helmite assured her. "You stopped in time."

"Anomen… oh Anomen… I almost started a war! All those people would have died…"

"It was my fault, I gave the Numbing Potions to you!" Anomen blamed himself. "I didn't know what else to do! I thought I was helping but I was a fool…"

Arowan raised her hand to his cheek, and he held it there miserably.

"Dorn made fools of us both," she whispered.

Suddenly the sound of an elfin warhorn shook the leaves of the Tree of Life, making them all jump. In the distance orders were being bellowed and trumpets blasted.

"It's already started!" Arowan cried. "I have to tell Ellesime to call it off. Rasaad, you get Viconia to the main gate before they attack her for being a drow. I'll explain everything to the queen."

She sprang to her feet and began to run, but Dorn seized her arm. The half-orc yanked her back so forcefully that her shoulder dislocated. She repelled him with a burst of necrotic energy and forced her joint back into place with a crunch.

"HAVE YOU GONE MAD!" he thundered.

"I almost did Dorn!" she wailed back. "Your master's little scheme almost worked but the Servant of all Faiths has stopped you."

Dorn's lip curled in disgust and he spat in her face. All the time he had wasted on her, to lose her this close to victory. He could feel the rage of his patron searing through the blade of Rancor. No doubt he would be punished for this, though it was not his fault. Ur-Gothoz, it seemed, had misjudged after all. The Adversary had risen and been thwarted by the Servant of all Faiths. Viconia had not even had to fight her, she had known her enemy well enough to defeat her with words!

"I am done with this!" he snarled. "My patron's plan, you and this wretched elf-city! If we ever meet again the first thing I will do is run you through, no matter what Ur-Gothoz's orders!"

Arowan had no time to reply, she had to find Ellesime. Dorn and Anomen took the main route back to the exit, but Rasaad and Viconia had to climb up into the branches once more to avoid detection. The populace were so riled up against drow that simply walking through the city would be inviting an attack.

Sneaking back through Suldanessellar was not difficult. Whichever walkway they wished to avoid there was always a branch above or below. The elves had been at peace for so long that they had little need for security. It would have been a burglar's paradise if only their party had a thief.

"You did it!" Rasaad smiled, placing an arm around Viconia. The gates were in sight, tall and regal, and beyond them the stairs leading down to the forest of Tethir. "We assumed that your destiny was to destroy the Great Evil but instead you talked her around."

"The power of love, not hate," Viconia mused. "It is not something my people appreciate, but perhaps there is some value in it after all."

They had to come down to the level of the people to approach the gate. The elves recoiled from her with revolted expressions but did not try to stop her leaving. Dorn was barging through the people with a sulky expression. The half-orc looked as though he might slaughter everyone in arms reach at any moment. Anomen, however, waited for Arowan who was leaving the elf queen's side.

"But what about Lolth?" Viconia fretted suddenly, as they passed the threshold and the enchanted air of Suldanessellar was replaced by a cold, harsh gust of reality. "She will come for me now! Now that my purpose is fulfilled and I am no longer the Servant of all Faiths."

Rasaad held her close to him, on the steps leading down from the city. He did not know how he would protect her. All he could say for sure was that he would never let her go.

"I wouldn't worry about Lolth _just yet _if I were you."

They glanced up. Arowan was watching the embracing couple from the other side of the gates with a twisted smile.

Viconia barely had time to register her mistake before there was a resounding bang and the gates to Suldanessellar slammed shut in her face. Rasaad and Viconia were locked out. The monk dropped her at once and pounded up the stairs three at a time, battering the gate to be let back in, but it was too late.

If he was angry, however, it was nothing at all to Viconia's reaction. Her eyes blazed like red infernos and she scratched and clawed at the impenetrable elf gate until her fingernails ran with her own blood.

"She did it again! Curse her! CURSE HER!"

Viconia smashed both hands uselessly into the gate and collapsed with a feral screech of frustration.

"There has to be another way in!" Rasaad cried, but he was answered by an arrow fired over the battlements. It was not one of Arowan's but elf-made and closely followed by a small volley.

Down the steps they fled and into the forest, but they were not allowed to rest there. Tethir forest was elf territory and the elves wanted them out. Arrows whistled over their heads, flying from the bows of unseen archers, branches hurtled with unnatural speed from above. A boar almost gored Rasaad's legs. They raced to the first path they could find and escaped down it without looking back.

There they almost bowled headlong into Sarevok. The Bhaalspawn drew his sword, thinking that they had come on Arowan's instructions, until his glowing eyes took in their injuries.

"You too?" he sneered.

"I propose an alliance," Rasaad panted. From the depths of the trees, wolves struck up an eerie howling and an arrow landed at his ankle. So far the elves were not aiming to kill, but that seemed likely to change if they tried to head back. "First, let us get out of this forest."

* * *

* * *

Dorn was confused.

Behind the doors of Suldanessellar, the warhorn was sounding once more and Ellesime's troops were forming ranks in preparation to march to battle. He forced his way through the tight, armoured regiments to discover why the ranger had locked him in with her. He found her stood staring at the locked gates with her head cocked to one side.

"That takes care of that problem," Arowan said brightly. "Now let's go destroy Urst Natha."

Dorn goggled at her.

"But all those things you said about respect for the love you had and …"

"Were _lies _Dorn. I was _lying,_" Arowan groaned impatiently. "It isn't possible to kill the Servant of all Faiths, so I found another way to get rid of her. Now grab Anomen and let's burn this city to the ground! We must defeat the evil."

"What evil?" cried Anomen.

Arowan blinked at him as though unable to comprehend how anyone could ask such a stupid question.

"_All of it!_"


	62. Fall and Rise

Plumes of dense, acrid smoke rose from what was rapidly becoming a smouldering ruin. The dark metropolis of Urst Natha was on fire, its charcoal steeples crumbling in an inferno of orange and red. Charred and blackened bodies lay everywhere, and the air rang with despairing wails.

"So here we are at last," Arowan remarked indifferently. "Your master's vision brought to life."

"Indeed," growled Dorn, adding, "I prefer to refer to him as my patron."

It would be impossible for her to overstate how little the half orc's preferences interested her, but she held her tongue. No sense in being needlessly provocative.

Her cold, brown eyes narrowed upon Anomen. The cleric's hands were bound and they had stripped him of his armour and weapons. Every time he tried to appeal to Helm, Arowan wove her necrotic magic causing foul black bile to bubble up his throat. By now he had given up and was staying his words, but he could not help but weep at the destruction he had unwittingly brought about.

Hideous as the drow city was, he had spent enough time living here disguised as one of them to know that they were not all wicked. They did not deserve this.

"Do get a grip Anomen," Arowan sighed. "Your whining is giving me a headache."

"What a day!" Dorn cried, licking his sword with relish. "My apologies for ever doubting you, Little Lamb! This was worth the long wait! I have spilled more blood in the past twenty-four hours than in the whole of the rest of my life!"

"I hope you and your master are not satisfied already," the dark ranger rebuked him sharply. "We have barely begun."

"I could carry on like this forever!" the Blackguard boasted. "We shall make thrones from our enemies' skulls and paint them with blood!"

"We will do nothing of the sort!" the ranger snapped, glaring resentfully at her allies. "Ellesime's people have incinerated enough of the remains already. Perfectly serviceable bodies gone to waste. Who knew elves were such a bunch of pyromaniacs? No Dorn, no mutilation. The corpses' heads stay put!"

"No matter," grinned Dorn, who was in a fine mood. He had not been counting but the number of souls harvested for his master's army must be comfortably into four figures by now.

Upon entering Ur-Gothoz's service Dorn had been surprised to learn that, despite the prevalence of evil in Toril, remarkably few souls actually ended up in hell. Most people who wished to do evil things aligned themselves with an equally evil deity, who would scoop their loyal followers into their own domains upon their deaths. Neutral or good souls were seldom condemned, and those who were (by some accident or ill-fortune) tended to be claimed by Ilmater eventually. One had to be both evil and an atheist or have done something particularly heinous to offend the gods to earn eternal damnation.

Add to that the fact that demons were perpetually destroying each other through violent conflict, and it was a wonder the nine hells had any resident population at all. For a demon lord who wished to claim Avernus, numbers on the scale that Dorn had harvested today would make a real difference, and they were barely getting started. Rancor hummed with his patron's pleasure.

Suddenly there were howls, screamed curses and the sound of marching feet. Ellesime's soldiers had separated out a group of defiant drow women. They were each carrying heavy bellies.

"Not them too, surely?" Anomen pleaded. His eyes turned to Arowan who surveyed him with contemptuous indifference. "You can't possibly mean to-"

"Cast detect evil," grunted Dorn. "And we shall see."

"No!" Anomen cried as they loosened the bonds on his hands. "Vile monsters! I won't aid in the murder of pregnant women Arowan. You'll have to kill me!"

"Very well," Arowan sighed. "Dorn! If Anomen refuses to cooperate you had better purge them all."

"No!" screamed the Helmite, as Dorn shrugged and unsheathed Rancor. Some of the women wore terrified expressions, but they hurled insults at their captors to the last. The drow women knew that if, by some miracle, they were to survive they would be slaughtered by their own kind for daring to show any weakness now. "You'll kill the unborn babies too!"

"Yes, that is unfortunate," she conceded. She began to scratch at the scar on her cheek that Viconia had given her so long ago. Her nails raked down until it opened and bled. "Any death of the innocent is a tragedy, but the evil must be destroyed. It is necessary. It is important. I would spare those mothers who are not evil, if you would but tell me who they are. If you won't then I'll be forced to cull them all."

"Drow have magic resistance!" Anomen objected desperately.

"They will lower their defences for you," Arowan stared at the drow women pointedly. "Since passing this test is the only chance of survival they've got."

Defeated, voice hoarse with misery, the cleric cast Detect Evil one by one over the prisoners. Almost all of them glowed red. Each time they did, Dorn followed after him with Rancor. Arowan lifted the hood of Irenicus's robe to shield her face and turned away.

"House Despana will have their vengeance for this!" one of the victims cried defiantly, as the half-orc approached with his blade. "They will see you suffer for eternity in the Demon Web ARRRRGHH!"

"Now there would be an irony," Arowan mused coldly, after one of the surface elves translated for her. "If Viconia and I were to end up in the pits together."

"Ha! Their spindly legged goddess would not even need to torture you," Dorn chuckled. "Being forced to endure each other's company would be punishment enough!"

They fought their way to the middle of the burning drow city, and when they got there Anomen dropped sobbing to his knees. Surface elves rushed around him, weapons drawn and torching everything in sight. Dorn was leading the charge against the Fighters' Society of Urst Natha, but Arowan seemed content to hang back and watch.

After a while there was a deafening roar like an avalanche, and the entire society building demolished into a pile of smoking rubble. The half-orc cheered brutishly, for his master would only get the souls of those who died directly through his actions, and bringing the building down had netted him hundreds in one go. Arowan was less impressed.

"Their bodies will be crushed to jelly! Oafish vandal!" she muttered.

Dorn returned holding Rancor, both he and the sword were streaked red with blood. He was leading a group of prisoners, being driven by two more surface elves with hard expressions.

The captives were drow women, their men and small children. They had been hiding in the Northern Quarter, behind the Fighters' Society but they did not look like warriors. Some of them were even carrying babies in their arms. Anomen clutched at his symbol of Helm, sobbed harder at the sight of them and shook his head.

"No, no please…"

Among the civilians, Arowan recognized the school teacher Ferape and his students. Little Pafogen was not looking so superior now. She and her friends were sheltering behind their long-suffering mentor. He was glaring the ranger down defiantly. When they had last met she, Dorn and Anomen had been disguised as drow by Adalon's enchantments. Now he did not recognize them.

"You know the drill Anomen," Dorn growled. "Do it or they all die."

Battling through his tears and looking as though he would rather be anywhere else, the young man rose to his feet and cast Detect Evil. All of the captive adult drow except for Ferape glowed with a tell-tale red. So did one of the two grim-faced surface elves herding them and, of course, Dorn himself.

Each adult drow tried threats or making deals. A few even resorted to begging, but one by one Dorn drove his sword through all those of evil alignment. Children screamed, babies fell to the ground and rolled away unheeded, their parents cut down from under them.

"This cannot be happening," Anomen was whimpering through his fingers. "This cannot be happening."

Dorn released the last grownup, Ferape, the only one not glowing. Realizing that he wasn't going to be killed, the teacher gathered the crying youngsters, shepherding them away as fast as he could while trying to carry three infants at once.

"Phrepto, Visteria, I can't hold all five of the babies, would you mind?" he managed timidly.

"Why should I, male?" demanded Visteria, placing her hand on her scrawny hip.

Ferape straightened up abruptly. After years of relentless abuse by his charges and now this, something inside him seemed finally to have snapped.

"Why should I help you?" Ferape bellowed down at her. The girls stared at him in stunned disbelief. Their teacher had never once dared raise his voice to them before. It was this, rather than the violence, that truly impressed upon them how dire their situation was. Phrepto started to sob.

"Pull yourself together Phrepto!" crowed Visteria. "It's shameful enough that your house has fallen, without showing weakness as well."

"It may have escaped your notice, Visteria, but all of our houses have fallen now," Ferape sighed.

"Him too?" Dorn asked, turning to Arowan.

Ferape froze, for he knew enough surface-common to understand Dorn's words. He turned slowly and looked back around. His face was gaunt but he stiffened his jaw, ready to meet death with dignity. The half-orc bared his sword, and the drow shut his eyes, but it was not him whom Dorn had been asking about.

Arowan surveyed the surface elf who had failed the Detect Evil test and chewed it over. Decapitating him was certain to antagonize Ellesime but (and it was an important but) the soldier was evil and evil had to be destroyed. She nodded.

"Dispose of him."

"Wait! You cannot be serious… What are you… WE'RE SUPPOSED TO BE ALLIES YOU MANIAC!"

When Ferape opened his eyes, it was to see the evil surface elf's head toppling to the floor instead of his own. He took some satisfaction from that. Despite his students' conviction that he was nothing but a wormlike coward, a lifetime of being a punchbag for stronger drow had imbued him with resilience.

"Why are you letting us live?" he asked the ranger in broken common.

"Two reasons," replied Arowan. "Firstly, you're not evil so I have no reason to harm you…"

"What you are doing is hardly sparing us!" Ferape retorted. His silver hair was coming loose from its band and his lopsided glasses gave him an oddly roguish look. Belatedly, he was gaining the respect of some of his charges. "This place will be overrun with… with…" He didn't know the common words for beholders and illithids, but she got the gist.

"Your friend Solaufein left recently to warn the other drow settlements that this was coming," Arowan replied coolly. "If he is right and the other Matron Mothers do decide these children are worth saving, I can trade for them."

"I do not think they would go so far as to pay for their lives," Ferape cautioned.

He was curious as to how the surface-necromancer knew Solaufein and why a human and a half-orc appeared to be leading a darthiir army, but survival had to be the first priority.

"Don't worry, I won't ask much for them," Arowan reassured him silkily. "But the drow of Menzoberranzan have something I want. Something that will mean nothing to them. If they provide it willingly, then I will hand over the survivors of Urst Natha and withdraw from the Underdark. If they don't…"

She trailed off into silence, twirling an arrow thoughtfully between finger and thumb.

"If they don't?" Ferape prompted. Arowan snapped out of her musing

"If they don't, I suppose I will have to visit the fine city of Menzoberranzan and retrieve it myself."

Ferape shuddered and hoped fervently that Solaufein's rescue party would cooperate.

"What can you possibly want so badly if it has no value to the drow?" muttered Dorn.

He did not like the idea of hanging around this city awaiting a worthless tribute. The elves of Suldanessellar had just suffered terrible losses and for now they were bent on revenge. Yet in his experience such fire burned cold quickly in elves. No doubt they would lose their stomach for blood soon and return to their harps and their tree hugging.

"They have a drider," Arowan replied sleekly.

"Is that all? We have driders!" Visteria piped up suddenly. "Our merchants would have sold you one if you'd asked! They're in the caverns beneath the Temple of Lolth, help yourself and begone surfacer!"

Ferape tried to hush her but the child had already engaged the Adversary's attention. Arowan knelt down to the level of the small drow, who shivered. Pafogen wiped her nose on her sleeve while Phrepto sucked on one of her braids. Anomen pitied them. As ghastly as they were being raised to be, they were still only children.

"Such a sweet offer small one, but you see the drider I want is very special," Arowan explained to them with a friendly smile, which did not quite reach her eyes. She patted Visteria's silver head, watching the girl's superior expression which so resembled Viconia's.

"What head game are you playing now Little Lamb?" growled Dorn. He had no patience for such politics. Yet at the same time he was impressed by everything the former-Ilmatari had done since taking Numbing Potions.

"Viconia had a brother whom she loved dearly," the ranger said mistily. "Anomen here has lost a sister, he can tell you better than I the pain of losing a beloved sibling. Even I found Eric's and Freya's deaths a shock and to be perfectly honest I never liked either of them. So, I can only imagine how it must feel when the lost sibling was your only friend in the world."

"Go to hell Arowan!" spat Anomen, but the ranger did not take her fathomless eyes off Visteria.

Instead she knotted her thumbs together to make a hand-arachnid. Moving her white-gloved fingers just like spider legs, she made it climb the air in front of Ferape's mesmerized students.

"Once upon a time, children, there was a priestess called Viconia Devir. One day she defied your Spider Queen. The other priestesses were going to cut out her heart as punishment, but her darling brother rescued her. She managed to flee, but poor Valas Devir was transformed into a drider. Isn't that sad?"

"Yes!" agreed the children. It was very sad that a traitor who had offended the glorious Lolth had somehow survived.

"Mmm. I forgot who I was talking to for a moment," Arowan scowled. "I meant it was sad that she was parted from her brother. Heart-breaking really, but don't fret tiny ones. This story has a happy ending. I intend to reunite them."

She refolded her fingers from a spider shape into a heart and pulled a simpering face.

"You can't undo a drider transformation!" Pafogen informed her, batting her strawberry eyes. Despite having always considered Ferape utterly useless, she never missed an opportunity to show off the things she had learned from him. "They're permanent."

"Perhaps, but it is not Lolth's curse I need to break," sighed Arowan, losing interest in the children and dropping her sickly-sweet affectation. "Only Viconia's mind…"

"You're sick! You're insane!" Anomen screamed at her.

"Gag Anomen until we need him again would you?" Arowan asked Dorn casually.

"You know if you really want to break Viconia," Dorn murmured, "I would say the best way to do it is through the monk. She may be indestructible but Rasaad isn't. We could send an assassin."

Arowan smiled with what might have been bitterness, were she still capable of feeling anything.

"Rasaad does far more damage to his lovers' psyche when he is in one piece, trust me," she informed him. "But you have given me an idea. You see, I need to find a woman called 'Amelyssan.' I have reason to believe that she can find my surviving brothers and sisters. Since that Bhaal cultist at the Twofold Temple is my only clue as to her whereabouts, we shall need to visit the Cloud Peak mountains soon anyway. While we are there, I think we should pay our respects at Gamaz's resting place."

Dorn saw where she was going with this and began to chuckle. "I expect the monk's brother will have been beautifully preserved under all that snow."

An explosive avalanche of fire and rubble in a distant part of the city made the dark ranger wince and roll her eyes. There would be no well-preserved bodies under that. Such a waste.

"Poor Rasaad. He did always blame me for depriving him of the chance to resurrect Gamaz," Arowan smiled icily. She scratched at her scar as she remembered. "It seems only right that I atone for my crimes by bringing Gamaz back from the dead. Now that I have the power to do so."

She slipped off one glove and held her necromancy ring up on her finger so that its green and grey gemstones caught the flickering firelight.

"You are kindness personified," the Blackguard grinned, taking her hand and kissing Arowan's cold white fingers.

At this Anomen collapsed again but Dorn seized him by the scruff of the neck. There was a portion of the city in the distance as yet untouched by flames. Ignoring Ferape as he tried to steer the newly orphaned children to safety, the half-orc headed toward it.

* * *

* * *

Sacking Urst Natha was complete less than a day later. The once formidable underground city with its spiked architecture and rounded buildings was still burning. Angry flames leapt orange and red to the height of the caverns. The few surviving drow were gathering with the darthiir soldiers for it had grown so hot that there were limited places left where it was bearable to go.

In the middle of it all stood Anomen. He was still a handsome man but a broken and hysterical one. He tore at his short beard, weeping and laughing in maniacal despair.

The air reeked of melting fat from the bodies at their feet. Screaming still resounded through the cavern, but it was growing fainter and now it was intermingled with sobbing. Ferape and his pupils had ceased fearing for their own immediate survival and were registering the scale of destruction.

"There. It is done."

Ellesime was still wearing her flowing white dress. She looked oddly frail in the midst of all this calamity. Like an orchid perched on the rim of an erupting volcano, all the fire flowing around her, leaving the elf-queen untouched.

Her army of surface elves were returning to her from all over the ruined city, like bees swarming about their queen. She gazed around her, trembling, with a horrified expression, though she was nowhere near so aghast as Anomen.

The squire threw himself into the ashes, sobbing uncontrollably. Dorn prodded him with his boot, disgust plastered over his face.

"It's my fault…" Anomen was whimpering. "I did this."

"Do not presume to take credit!" snarled Dorn. "I did this. All you did was whinge and cry!"

"I wonder… was this truly necessary?" asked Ellesime tremulously.

"It seems somewhat late to be worrying about that now," Dorn pointed out with a grin.

It was not lost on the elf-queen that the half-orc was taking immense pleasure in the ruin they had caused. Distasteful though his gloating was, however, it was far less disconcerting than Arowan's reaction. Or rather lack of one. The ranger was surveying the carnage with unnatural indifference.

"They tell me that you killed some of my own warriors," Ellesime began. The queen had a wavering, indecisive manner about her. She addressed Dorn, though every so often her eyes flickered toward Arowan lurking in his shadow. Jonaleth's robes were still drawn close around the ranger's gaunt face. "How dare you!"

"We agreed that those who passed the Detect Evil test would be spared," Dorn growled threateningly. "And that those who failed would perish."

"I… I never agreed to the murder of my own people!" Ellesime protested.

Arowan stepped forward. She spoke softly with a calculating expression. As she did so, she drew Soultaker and dangled it pointedly, just to remind the other woman of how wicked her lover had been and how little the elf ought to trust her own judgement.

"Your mercy and tolerance to the evil in your midst is commendable in some ways," Arowan whispered, "But it has had disastrous consequences. It would have been kinder to Irenicus to put him to sleep humanely, as I just did with your evil followers. By failing to do so you let your people down and subjected him to unimaginable torment. Should I have let those men live so that one of them could become the next Jonaleth? Is that what you want?"

This distressed the elf-queen greatly. Her eyes darted around like trapped flies, landing finally at her feet and welling with guilty tears.

"No… I do not want another Jonaleth. Perhaps you are right… my judgement is not what I believed it to be."

She gazed mutely at the carnage her forces had delivered on their ancient enemy. Some of her soldiers seemed to share her dismay. Most did not. The elf queen raised her dainty hands to address her troops.

"The war is over at long last," she cried. "The drow of Urst Natha shall trouble us no longer. Let us return home."

Once more her weary army formed ranks and the horn of Suldanessellar reverberated around the caverns. More than anything, the mood was one of relief that this nightmare was over and that they could go home and rebuild. Elhan, her commander, looked back at the scene with grim satisfaction before giving the order to withdraw. Ellesime lingered a moment with Dorn and Arowan.

"You… I… you are welcome to join us of course," she told the Blackguard, though she didn't sound as though she meant it. She seemed to be going out of her way to avoid eye contact with Arowan. Her gut was telling her that she had made a horrible mistake, but it was too late to undo it now.

Dorn looked to Arowan who silently shook her head once. Ellesime tried and failed to hide her relief, as she turned to leave with her people. The half-orc watched them go, his black eyes narrowed, leaving him and Arowan alone in the ashes with Anomen weeping piteously at their feet.

"Well?" Dorn demanded angrily, turning on his new mistress. "Now what?"

Arowan looked politely puzzled. Dorn pointed his brutish hand angrily at the withdrawing troops, putting his tusked face very close to hers.

"Your army is walking away!" he cried frustratedly. "Aren't you going to do something?"

The ranger laughed frostily, catching sight of her reflection in Soultaker. She observed herself for a moment before sheathing it. It was the first time she had seen herself since Yoshimo's death. She had dark circles beneath her eyes, her hair was stringy and unwashed and she'd grown pale and waiflike. No wonder the elves had not perceived her as a threat. Were it not for the Charisma Ring she might have been mistaken for a vagrant.

Skie was still rotating endlessly, her stolen soul trapped in the evil little weapon's gem. Suddenly Dynaheir's face appeared in front of her, glaring at Arowan accusingly. This startled the ranger, reminding her that she was due a dose of Numbing Potion.

A very brief flicker of compassion stole through her just before she swallowed, and on a whim she tried to break the gem with her thumb. It didn't work. Then she put it on the ground and attempted to crush it beneath her boot.

"I could break it?" Dorn offered, hefting Rancor.

"So that you can send the imprisoned souls straight to your master?" Arowan asked dryly. She swallowed her icy-cold potion and switched from almost to completely unfeeling. "Besides it's a waste of a powerful artefact. What was I thinking?" With that she sheathed Soultaker once more.

The elf army were out of sight now, though they could still be heard in the distance.

"So much for that," Dorn muttered. "My patron hands you an army and you squander it."

"Ellesime's army isn't big enough, not nearly big enough," Arowan replied. "I needed them to get started, but I've swapped them for an army I can grow with every victory."

"What are you raving about, you lunatic?" screamed Anomen. "It's just you, me, Dorn and a pile of corpses! Solaufein's people will butcher you when they arrive if the mind flayers don't get us first!"

For a while Arowan said nothing. She climbed atop a large pile of rubble, ignoring the lung stinging dust still hovering around it. Every so often she would scratch ugly runes into the stones and dirt with the tip of her arrow.

"Oh Anomen," she sighed pityingly, before she began her chanting. "You'll be amazed what I can do these days with a pile of corpses."

The surviving drow huddled together in petrified silence, as all around them their former neighbours twitched, jerked and began struggling to their feet. Their milky eyes stared at nothing, but they lurched, crawled and stumbled from every corner of the city, gathering around Arowan.

"I told Ellesime it wouldn't take the drow long to rise again," she sneered, stroking the Necromancy Ring.


	63. Epilogue

Seven hooded figures sat about a round table studying a map of Faerun.

"Gorion's last ward has become too powerful," one of them bellowed, striking his armoured fist against the table. "We should have acted long before now!"

"There is no reason to be concerned," said the man to his left in a soft, dangerous voice. "The fate of this fool has been sealed."

"But can we be so sure?" asked a third man fretfully. He tugged at the sleeves of his robes, which were more worn than those of the other conspirators and had been darned in several places.

"This spawn of Bhaal is doomed! There is no escape," the second man insisted more forcefully.

The first man to speak pulled off his gauntlet and fumbled for a handkerchief to wipe his brow. It was a thick, steel glove with the watchful eye of Helm emblazoned on the back. Two of the hooded figures pushed their chairs back from the table at the sight of it.

"I wish I could share your confidence, Alorgoth," sighed Prelate Wessalen. "Yet the ranger Arowan was sheltered in our very Order for months. We never suspected that out of hundreds of Bhaalspawn she might be the one, she was so weak. I feel we ought to have done more."

"Who has done more than my mistress?" Alorgoth demanded. "Who took the Servant of all Faiths into her umbra when Lolth rejected her in a childish fit of temper?"

"Mind your tongue human!" screamed another of the hooded figures, springing to her feet. Her hood fell down to reveal flashing red eyes and a mane of silver hair. "Speak ill of the Spider Queen in my presence again and I shall cut it from your mouth and feed it to you!"

"Is that a threat?" Prelate Wessalen thundered, reaching for his sword.

"Stop, stop!" pleaded the man in ragged robes. "We can only defeat the Great Evil if we work as one. All of our gods command it!"

"Cease yer whining, Ilmatari!" a fourth figure got to their feet, though being a dwarf this made little difference. She was wielding a sizable axe, however, and the others sat down slowly. All save for Alorgoth, who had never stood up in the first place. "I dinnae see why there be so many humans here anyway. This affects us all, why are yer so overrepresented?"

"I invited the Painbearer and the Doombringer because they represent the faiths of the Adversary and the Servant of all Faiths respectively," Wessalen replied wearily.

"_Probably _the Adversary," insisted the Ilmatari tremulously. "We shouldn't judge before…"

"Aye. Ye _say_ yer sure paladin, but as I recall last time we met ye were sure it were the monk Balthazaar. I would nae be so quick to rule him out. He be a pious little twerp and no mistake."

"Six of the remaining Bhaalspawn wield vast power, and hunting them ourselves is a pointless risk," purred Alorgoth, fingering his lip. "Better if they could be persuaded to deal with each other..."

_ **~Fin** _

_ **Concludes with The Ashes of Urst Natha** _


End file.
